


we become light

by tsuristyle



Category: SMAP
Genre: Comfort and Healing, Emotional Repression, Flowers, M/M, dangerous weather, dystopian cyberpunk, electric paint, hints of supernatural things, in desperate need of a good beta-ing, metaphors not actually metaphors, motorcycle battles, mysterious memories, not terribly graphic violence, off-screen sex, once instance of implied past non-con, totalitarian government, underground rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:40:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 61,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9288752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsuristyle/pseuds/tsuristyle
Summary: Five men meet in a dystopian cyberpunk future to free their city from the Tower, with the help of motorcycle rebels, mysterious memories, and love.(Warnings for violence, swearing, body modification, much emotional repression, repressed memories, an instance of implied past non-con, some scenes with blood, far too many original characters, and a general lack of beta-ing all around. But hey, motorcycle battles!)





	1. Chapter 1

_There were five who stood against the darkness when it descended.  
They fought against the seductive false promises it made, against the fear and despair it enforced. They planted the seeds of rebellion in people's hearts.  
But the darkness hunted them down, and in a tower that stretched to the sky, they stood together in their last battle.  
Some say, though, that when the darkness surrounded them, from the tower came five bursts of light, like stars streaking across the sky.  
They say, perhaps the battle is not yet over..._  
  
  
  
Kimura spat blood onto the pavement and wiped his mouth. One loose tooth, a bruised jaw, a handful of cuts on his arms and back. Not bad. He tossed aside the lead pipe, his impromptu friend-of-the-day, and crouched down to raid his would-be attackers' pockets.  
  
Keys, cash, some IDs... _yes_. He sucked in a reverent breath as his fingers found the tell-tale shape of a pack of cigarettes. Sweet, sweet, illegal cigarettes. Almost better than cash for the amount each joint'd bring in on the market.  
  
He thumbed his earring, switching his left eye to thermal, and scanned the rooftops. The crumbling concrete stood out clear as day against the cold sky; in the far distance, the Tower was a faint shimmer of grey, almost as frozen as the night surrounding it. Nothing. He switched back to night vision and moved on to the last of the thugs.  
  
Now that was weird. No cash, no IDs, not even a scrap of lint. The guy had nothing on him. Kimura turned the thug over, checking the back of his jacket, and froze. On the back of the neck, just hidden by the shirt collar, a diamond-shaped device was embedded in the man's skin. Kimura looked around again quickly, the hairs standing up on his arms; this was no amateur work.  
  
A spy. The man had to be a spy; it was the same diamond that had leered back at him from every surveillance camera and vidscreen and loudspeaker he'd ever destroyed. But what was a spy, one of the Tower's elite, doing after a low-life gutter rat like _him_?  
  
Kimura peered at the device. There was something set in the center of it, some kind of long, thin stick. He pulled out his switchblade and carefully pried it loose, turning it over curiously in his hand. Maybe Shingo would be able to read it.  
  
A flicker of movement pricked the corner of his eye and he threw himself against the wall, flattening into the shadows behind a dumpster. An instant of a second later, the alley was flooded in light.  
  
One of the thugs cracked his eyes open painfully. "Wha...?"  
  
A crackle of static issued from above. "THREE CITIZENS OUTSIDE AFTER CURFEW. REPEAT. THREE CITIZENS OUTSIDE AFTER CURFEW."  
  
The thug's eyes widened in sudden realization. He caught sight of Kimura and opened his mouth in a wordless plea.  
  
"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE." The air swirled through the alley, litter dancing across the pavement. A silencer was coming. "DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ESCAPE."  
  
Blinding light shot down, brighter even than the ever-watching spotlight. The thug blinked desperately to clear his vision and threw one last glance at the shadows-- but Kimura was gone.  
  
And then the air stilled. They were here.  
  
  
Shingo stretched, yawning broadly. Two hours to dawn. He had to go out today; he needed to bargain for some more hemostatic powder and another infrared laser. And maybe also some more coffee, you could never have too much coffee. He rubbed his eyes blearily in the mirror and wandered into the kitchen in his boxer shorts in search of coffee.  
  
Halfway through a terrible cup of instant, his watch vibrated against his pulse. Someone was at the door.  
  
Shingo's door wasn't a normal door. It looked like one, certainly, at least until you realized that it was made of solid steel and there didn't appear to be any way of opening it from the outside. Anyone but Shingo himself had to wait for the owner's approval, upon which the door would quietly swing inward to reveal a long, long downward staircase, followed by yet another door.  
  
Shingo opened the second door himself. "What're you doing here? You know it's suspicious to come here during curfew."  
  
Kimura stumbled in, breathing hard. "Had a close one."  
  
Shingo shut the door quickly, at once wide awake. "Did they see you?"  
  
"Almost. Your eye warned me in time." Kimura winced and pulled off his shirt-- the cuts weren't too serious, but running across the city had opened them deeper, staining his shirt with dark red crescents. Shingo took him by the shoulders and pushed him towards the couch, following a moment later with a large medical kit.  
  
"You're lucky it wasn't another patrol," he said, applying rubbing alcohol to a cloth and swabbing the wounds on Kimura's back. "I can do these for free, but the ones on your arms'll be extra, 'kay?"  
  
Kimura sucked air in through his teeth, possibly from the burn of the alcohol, or possibly from the memory Shingo's words had recalled. Several deep scars ran across Kimura's back, old but never fully healed. "I think it might've been something worse than a patrol." He dug the stick from his pocket, carefully holding it out.  
  
Shingo took a pair of glasses from the medical kit and tapped the frame to adjust them to microscopic level, inspecting the surface of the rod. "Looks like a micro-data drive-- wait, I've heard about something like this, they use these to give information to elites--" Shingo looked over the top of the glasses at Kimura. "You're kidding."  
  
"Can you see what's on it?"  
  
Shingo turned the drive over, inspecting it again. "Maybe. Building a reader'll be pretty easy, but I dunno if I'll be able to decode what's on it." He set it carefully aside and took the glasses off. "First things first, though. Lie down."  
  
Kimura grimaced. "A least gimme a shot of whiskey before you start sticking needles in me."  
  
Shingo gave Kimura's shoulder a smack, but pulled a bottle labeled 'Temporary Anesthetic' out of the kit. Kimura took a long swig of the whiskey and handed it back, wiping his mouth.  
  
"I'm putting _that_ in your medical expenses, too," Shingo grumbled, capping the bottle and trading it for a suturing needle and thread. "Now lie down already, we've got a lot of work to do."

 

Nakai stared at the black door across from him. Ankles together, hands flat on the briefcase in his lap, gaze straight ahead, not leaning too far forward or back. Check. He ran through all the steps in his head, every motion, every word he'd rehearsed over and over and over. He'd worked hard to get to this point-- he couldn't afford the slightest mistake.  
  
The minutes stretched into what felt like hours; Nakai focused on the door until it lost all meaning, a flat black rectangle cutting into an expanse of blank grey. That rectangle held his entire future, it would decide the beginning and the end and everything in between, it was security even if that meant forswearing all happiness whatsoever--  
  
A speaker crackled above him. "NAKAI MASAHIRO. ENTER."  
  
He started, and stood up nervously. Should he open the door himself? Or would that be too forward?  
  
The speaker crackled again. "ENTER."  
  
Nakai squared his shoulders and reached for the doorknob. This was it, the moment of fate.  
  
Beyond the door was a blank, windowless room, surrounded in all directions by grey concrete. It was empty except for a single desk; a pinched-looking lady sat behind it, looking down her nose at a computer screen.  
  
"Good morning. My name is Nakai Masahiro, age 28, Level 5 worker at Sub-office 12--"  
  
"Yes, we heard you practicing last night." The lady spoke in a clipped voice, not looking up from her computer. "We can skip that part. You have served as a Level 5 for two years without incident, which qualifies you for a level promotion."  
  
Nakai closed his mouth, and nodded wordlessly.  
  
"However, there is one issue that must be addressed." The lady tapped something on her keyboard. "You have one count of violent conduct on your record for grade 10."  
  
His first year of high school. That had been the last year he'd seen his parents. "Yes. I received due punishment and attended corrective training." He pushed the memory of the windowless grey van to the back of his mind. "I am very grateful to the Tower for allowing me a second chance."  
  
The lady's eyes flicked up-- sharp, cold, incapable of compassion-- and flicked back to the computer screen. "That remains to be seen." She began typing at high speed, and Nakai felt an answering buzz from the workpad in his briefcase. "Your promotion has been processed. You will report tomorrow morning to Office 5 in District 24. As per the benefits of a Level 6, your apartment status has been upgraded and reassigned to District 24, Block 4. You have until curfew to move your belongings. Dismissed."  
  
Nakai bowed and backed towards the door, feeling slightly overwhelmed. "Th- Thank you." The lady didn't respond.  
  
  
He didn't have much in the way of belongings. Everything fit neatly into one box, and then he was out the door, giving his old apartment building one last glance before heading towards District 24. Take the train? No, it was close enough to walk, no sense wasting his new allowance.  
  
He'd done it. He was a Level 6 now, with all the benefits that came with-- upgraded apartment, increased transit allowance, unlimited access to movies and books on his workpad.  
  
_Tower-approved movies and books_ , something in the back of his mind murmured darkly. _And how many cameras will this new apartment have?_  
  
Nakai shoved the intruding thoughts away, focusing on the unfamiliar buildings and vidscreens around him. District 24 looked similar to his old section, but bordered on an outer district; in the far distance, he could see disorganized, crumbling rooftops. Best to stay away from that area. He would have to be doubly careful from now on-- a spotless apartment, proper posture even at home, and a rigid schedule right down to the minute. There was no such thing as _de_ motion, after all. If you failed to live up to their standards, you were sent to corrections.  
  
_Or you simply disappeared._  
  
He shook his head, and adjusted the box in his arms. He could do this. He'd made it this far; there was no reason he couldn't keep it up. There was a future ahead of him.  
  
He turned the corner, and nearly dropped the box on his feet.  
  
  
Tsuyoshi brushed dirt from his apron and stood, admiring his handiwork. Twelve new carnation seedlings, freshly transplanted into a new basin. They'd grown sturdily from the clippings he'd taken; with a little luck and lots of sunlight, they'd turn out just as strong as their parents.  
  
He reached for his watering can, and looked up. Someone had stopped by his shop.  
  
"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. Are you interested in buying flowers?"  
  
The man started, clutching the box in his arms. "Uh-- I-- I-- Yes?" He seemed surprised at himself even as he said it.  
  
"Oh, good! Here, come take a look--" Tsuyoshi set down the watering can and reached to take the man's arm, but stopped short. "Have we met before?"  
  
He was sure he'd never seen the man before, but somehow, he knew the stranger's face like he'd seen it every day for years. Every line and angle was a familiar memory, filling him with nostalgic warmth.  
  
The man hesitated, and shook his head. "I've-- I've only just moved here." He glanced down at the box he was carrying.  
  
"Me too." Strange, how comforting it was-- Tsuyoshi realized he was staring, and turned to look over his flowers. "How about a carnation? They're in excellent shape, the ones over here just came into bloom a few days ago. Oh, _here_ ," He tugged on the man's sleeve, guiding him to a clump of red carnations. "This one is perfect."  
  
"You don't have to--" The man started, but Tsuyoshi had already fetched the clippers from his apron pocket, carefully trimming a single flower from the plant.  
  
"Isn't it beautiful?" He held the carnation up, admiring each perfectly-formed petal. The man hastily shifted the box in his arms, trying to reach for his pocket. "No, no--" Tsuyoshi gently set the carnation on top of the box and smiled. "It's a gift. Since you're just moving in."  
  
The man smiled back, tentatively, like he wasn't used to it. He met Tsuyoshi's eyes. "Thank you."  
  
Tsuyoshi tucked his hands in his apron pocket shyly, warmth flooding through his veins. He really did feel like he knew this stranger, like he'd gazed into those eyes once before, a long time ago--  
  
Something collided with him from behind, and he turned. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't see you coming--"  
  
  
"It's a gift," the shopkeeper said, smiling warmly. "Since you're just moving in."  
  
Nakai looked down at the red carnation. What was he doing? He'd just been promoted to Level 6, he couldn't afford to do anything out of line. Accepting a flower from a raggedly-dressed shopkeeper-- and the shop was barely more than a row of flower basins in front of a tent pitched between buildings, at that-- it would certainly attract suspicion.  
  
But the moment he'd caught sight of the man, all rationality had flown out the window. There was something so familiar about that figure, something that resonated inside him like an old, forgotten memory resurfacing. Where had he met this person before?  
  
He looked into the shopkeeper's eyes, smiling back. "Thank you." They had to be watching him, he really should turn and go. It would cost him more than just his job if he wasn't careful.  
  
A tall figure came striding around the corner, colliding heavily with the shopkeeper's back. Nakai froze. Armored from head to toe, a featureless black helmet for a face-- it was a patrol.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't see you coming--"  
  
"Get out of my way, _gutter rat_." The patrol picked the shopkeeper up with one armored hand and threw him aside. Nakai took a step back.  
  
The helmet turned, taking in the little makeshift shop and rows of planted flowers. "What's this? Occupying land without a permit?" The patrol lifted a heavy boot and overturned a basin. Dirt spilled across the pavement.  
  
The shopkeeper rushed to collect the fallen plants. "I'm sorry, I just moved into the area yesterday, I didn't know you needed a permit--"  
  
The patrol shoved him out of the way. "I don't take excuses from _gutter rats_. You're under arrest for trespassing and--" He sent another basin flying with a kick. "-- _illegal_ occupation of Tower property." The patrol turned, aiming another kick at the tub the man had been working on earlier.  
  
"Don't!" Nakai watched in horror as the shopkeeper lunged forward, clutching the patrol's back. "They've just been planted, if you disturb them they'll--" The patrol wheeled around and clamped a hand around the shopkeeper's arm.  
  
"You are now charged with violent conduct towards an officer of the _law_ ," he growled, lifting the man by his arm until he was dangling above the ground. "The Tower will not deal lightly with this." His grip tightened, and there was a sickening noise as the bone broke underneath.  
  
Something deep in Nakai's brain gave an answering _crack_. He threw the box-- his entire life's possessions-- at the patrol, and grabbed the shopkeeper's uninjured hand as the armored guard dropped him. There was no time to think-- he pulled the man up, and they ran.

 

Nakai pulled them down behind a pile of garbage and slumped against the crumbling concrete wall, dizziness and exhaustion threatening to wash over him. The twists and turns of the run-down streets seemed endless. How long had they been running?  
  
Next to him, the shopkeeper cradled his arm limply against his chest, breathing in painful gasps. He was at his limit, fighting to keep from passing out. Nakai squeezed their joined hands gently; the shopkeeper squeezed back, smiling weakly at him.  
  
Footsteps echoed down the alleyway. Nakai tensed-- they didn't sound like a patrol, but there was no room for error. The shopkeeper swallowed hard, burying his face in Nakai's shoulder to stifle another ragged breath. They'd have to run again, but how long could they stay ahead?  
  
The footsteps drew closer, closer, unmistakeably approaching their hiding place. Nakai braced himself to bolt-- and then the pursuer came into view.  
  
" _There_ you are," the man said, pushing a pair of goggles up into a mane of white-blonde hair. He squatted in front of them, smiling broadly and holding out a hand. "I'm Shingo. C'mon, let's get out of here before curfew falls."  
  
  
Kimura slunk through the evening shadows, hugging the walls. It was almost curfew; once the sun set, there'd be twice as many patrols lurking about, and the silencers would be out in force to patrol the skies. It was almost time for him to go to work. He scaled a building, weaving through the rooftops and the vidscreens that only made the shadows seem darker, and dropped down lightly in another street. "You called?"  
  
Shingo looked up with relief. He was attempting to carry someone on his back while holding up another person who looked close to fainting. "Can you give me a hand? This guy's almost dead on his feet."  
  
Kimura crouched, offering his back. "Here." The man squinted at him suspiciously for a moment, and then all but passed out on top of him. Kimura hoisted him up, glancing at Shingo. "They have a run-in or something?"  
  
Shingo led the way through the darkening alleys. "Pissed off a patrol. Broke this guy's arm, and I dunno, I guess the other guy snapped or something." He paused to pull his goggles down, scanning the area. "He almost wouldn't let go of this one's hand. You should've seen 'em, though, they kept ahead of the patrols for hours. Lucky they made it this far into the outer ring."  
  
Kimura whistled under his breath. "So you're gonna take 'em in?"  
  
"Yeah." They reached Shingo's door. It swung inward, recognizing its master.  
  
"They're wanted criminals," Kimura pointed out, following Shingo down the steps.  
  
Shingo unlocked the second door, smiling grimly. "So're you."  
  
  
Nakai woke at the sound of the shopkeeper's voice crying out in pain. He shoved himself upright, looking around wildly-- the shopkeeper was stretched out on an operating table, someone in a surgical mask was bending over him with a syringe--  
  
He vaulted over the back of the couch, lunging for the attacker. Someone grabbed him from behind, strong arms catching around his chest. "Calm _down_ , it's just anesthesia--" He ducked his head and bit down hard on the nearest arm. "Ow! _Fuck!_ " The arm loosened, and Nakai dove towards the operating table. He snatched a scalpel from a nearby tray--  
  
"Wait! It's okay!"  
  
Nakai stopped. The shopkeeper was struggling to prop himself up, his broken arm carefully laid out along one side. "It's okay, he's going to fix my arm."  
  
The man next to him lowered the surgical mask. It was the person who'd offered to help them. Shingo. Nakai relaxed slightly, sparing a glance for the cluttered room around him. The couch was in the center of the room, strewn with blankets; across from it, a wide desk and shelves, covered with wires and computer parts and other, more unrecognizable technology. The man who'd restrained him was sitting on the back of the couch and rubbing his arm with a dark look, but didn't seem inclined to interfere again.  
  
"Welcome to my kingdom," Shingo said, with a lopsided smile. He nodded at the scalpel in Nakai's hand. "I'm gonna need that, if you don't mind." Nakai quickly dropped it back in the tray, light-headedness rushing over him as the adrenaline subsided.  
  
"You're a doctor?"  
  
Shingo raised the mask again. "Something like that." He double-checked a torniquet around the shopkeeper's upper arm, and bent over a spot he'd prepared with alcohol. Whatever was in the syringe seemed to take effect instantly; the broken arm went completely limp, and the shopkeeper sighed audibly in relief. "Don't worry, I'll have you fixed up in no time," Shingo reassured him, donning a pair of glasses and tapping the frame a few times. "I'll have to make at least one incision, but I promise you won't feel a thing."  
  
Nakai circled the other side of the table, looking down at the shopkeeper anxiously. The man smiled up at him. "It's okay. It doesn't hurt anymore." He reached out his uninjured hand.  
  
Nakai took it, running his thumb over the back of the man's hand. There was still dirt under his fingernails. "I'm-- I'm Nakai."  
  
The shopkeeper curled his fingers around Nakai's hand tightly. "Tsuyoshi."  
  
Shingo glanced at them over the rim of his glasses, eyebrows raised. The other man came up behind him. "The fuck? All that--" he rubbed the bite mark on his arm "--and you two just _met_? Hey, watch out--"  
  
It was like he'd been injected with anesthesia as well. "Tsuyoshi," Nakai repeated to himself, and blacked out.

 

Shingo tied off the final stitch and tapped the glasses back into x-ray, carefully double-checking for any stray slivers of bone. Three incisions, and that was the last of them. He released the torniquet and stripped his gloves off, stretching his back-- he'd been standing for almost three hours.  
  
Kimura appeared from the kitchen smelling like instant. "Coffee?"  
  
Shingo threw himself down on the couch with a yawn. "No thanks. Unlike you, I prefer to _sleep_ at night."  
  
"Suit yourself." Kimura disappeared into the kitchen again, and returned with a cup. He approached the operating table curiously-- both were asleep, the older of the two slumped over in the chair Kimura had wedged under him. "Finished?"  
  
"Almost." Shingo folded his arms behind his head. "Gotta whip up some kind of brace. Should be fine for now, though." The hard part would be getting them to safety, of course-- it'd take about six weeks for the broken arm to heal, and they didn't seem like the types who'd last long out here.  
  
"Feels like I've seen 'em before somewhere." Kimura leaned over the table, peering at the younger one's face-- Tsuyoshi, was it. The shopkeeper had tried to stay awake, making quiet conversation with Shingo, but after about ten minutes he'd been out like a light.  
  
"Yeah. That one's probably a drifter, he was selling something or other when the patrol came by. Dunno 'bout the other guy, though-- suits don't usually leave their home ground, do they?"  
  
Kimura shrugged and took a swig of the coffee. "Ugh. This stuff hasn't gotten any better." He chugged the rest, hissing though his teeth as the liquid burned its way down, and grabbed his jacket from the back of the couch. "Market's on tonight. Need anything?"  
  
"Colloidal gold." Shingo said immediately.  
  
Kimura gave him a look, pulling the jacket on. "I meant, like, something _affordable_."  
  
Shingo yawned again and rolled onto his side. "Need it for that drive reader. You owe me, anyway."  
  
"Not _that_ much," Kimura grumbled, letting himself out. Shingo drifted off to the sound of his friend's footsteps heading up the stairs.  
  
  
It was raining. Kimura pulled the hood of his jacket up and shoved his hands in his pockets as he entered the market. Voices chattered around him, various smells and sounds from a few dozen makeshift booths assaulting his senses. Above, a vidscreen flickered through the rain, broadcasting whatever the Tower saw fit to call news.  
  
The market never showed up in the same place twice; as far as Kimura could tell, it was completely random, one seller calling another calling another on the channel until they had all clustered together out of the spotlight's reach and the signal went out that it was on. And it could disperse at a moment's notice, at the first whiff of a patrol in the area. It was always best to get your business done as efficiently as possible.  
  
He turned his second earring up, keeping one ear on the channel, and got to work.  
  
First, the cigarettes and the valuable parts of the surveillance cameras he'd been able to sabotage, haggling with the crooked-eyed buyer until he got a price he liked. The ID cards he'd gotten off the thugs went in for decent, plus a new shirt that caught his eye. The old one had a few too many tears in it these days.  
  
He wove through the crowd, ducking past peddlars hawking porn and electric body inks, until he caught sight of the seller he was looking for. A little old man, squatting down against the wall between booths, laughing at something only known to him. Kimura crouched in front of him. "What've you got today, grandpa?"  
  
The little old man chuckled, staring at the air next to Kimura's ear. "Silver and gold, silver and gold, all out of iron today," he said in a sing-song voice, trailing off with a giggle.  
  
Kimura leaned closer. "I'm looking for gold."  
  
"A gold-seeker!" The man chortled. "A gold-seeker, a gold-seeker, but can he dig deep enough?"  
  
Kimura narrowed his eyes. "How much?"  
  
The seller named a figure he wasn't prepared for. It was more than he'd gotten for the stuff he'd scavenged, almost everything he had with him. He owed Shingo, but not _that_ much.  
  
Another raspy giggle interrupted his thoughts-- the man was looking directly at him now, shaking with mirth. "You're a popular one, aren't you!"  
  
Kimura shook his head. "Not my thing, grandpa--" He cut off as the seller raised a hand to point beyond his shoulder.  
  
"No, no! Everyone wants you now!" Kimura turned. The vidscreen was cycling through a list of names and photos, the latest wanted criminals. He recognized the two Shingo had taken in-- _Kusanagi Tsuyoshi, 25, report, Nakai Masahiro, 28, report_ \-- and then his own face flashed onto the screen again. _Kimura Takuya, 28, exterminate_.  
  
He looked back at the laughing old man, thinking quickly. He'd been on their low-level list for a long time; this was much more serious. This had to have something to do with that spy, and the data stick he'd stolen. Whatever was on it was important enough that they wanted him dead immediately, no questions asked-- he needed to find out what.  
  
"I'll take it." He palmed over the amount the seller had named. The little old man leaned forward with a guffaw, clapping Kimura on the shoulder and slipping a vial of deep red liquid into his jacket. "Gold, gold, the finest gold, red as blood and twice as sweet..."  
  
The man sang his way into giggling nonsense. Kimura tugged his hood further down over his eyes and slipped away into the dark, rainy streets.

 

Tsuyoshi dreamed. He was running down a dark street, alleys twisting and turning around him. Nothing grew here; it was always night, moonless night.  
  
The flowers were dying, withering from thirst, stricken from their homes in the earth. Or maybe they were already dead, crushed underfoot by heavy boots that seemed to crack the pavement with every step. He couldn't save them. It was already too late.  
  
The sound echoed behind him-- something was following him, heavy footfalls in unrelenting pursuit. He kept running, past the empty, dark houses.  
  
He knew their faces. The man standing over him, the one watching curiously behind him, the one holding his hand tightly like he never wanted to let go again. He knew them. There were four of them; there should be five. Where was the fifth?  
  
The footsteps grew louder, drawing inexorably closer no matter how fast Tsuyoshi ran. His arm wouldn't move. Pain flashed through it, slowing him down-- he had to run twice as hard this time, or he'd slow them all down again. Again?  
  
The darkness ahead of him shuddered, and then the Tower was looming above him, stretching unfathomably high into the night, and for an instant he wasn't sure if he should be running towards it or away--  
  
Something pulled him close, wrapped protectively around him. The dream faded into nothing; he was safe, cocooned in warmth. He curled into the familiar embrace, and sank into dreamless sleep.  
  
  
Nakai woke with a start. He'd overslept, he was late, they were going to--  
  
Memory flooded back. Dirt spilling to the ground, cloth tearing as a patrol grabbed him, the pounding of footsteps on concrete. A tall man with a shock of white-blonde hair spraying out like a mane from his head. And now he was here, Tsuyoshi was here, they were safe.  
  
Were they? Was he? Ten years-- more than ten years-- he'd just thrown away everything he'd spent so long carefully working towards to attack a patrol and land in the hands of street people in an Outer district. They wouldn't just send him to corrections if they caught him this time.  
  
"Well aren't you two cute."  
  
Nakai looked up. It was the man who'd tried to restrain him the previous night, crouching over them from above. Nakai tensed, instinctively pulling Tsuyoshi closer, and then flushed as he realized he was curled protectively around the younger man, with his arms wrapped around his head and one leg thrown over him like a shield.  
  
The newcomer smirked. "You've already passed out on me twice, if I was gonna kill you I'd've done it by now."  
  
Nakai studied the man's upside-down face-- it felt like he'd seen him before, but the events of the previous day were jumbled chaotically in his brain, he couldn't tell anymore. The man was staring intently at them, though. Nakai started to disentangle himself when warm breath fluttered down his collar and Tsuyoshi opened his eyes. "Oh," he said softly, and smiled. "Thank you."  
  
Nakai quickly pulled away. "Is your arm okay?" He looked down; Tsuyoshi's arm was in a makeshift sling, bandaged securely against his chest. Tsuyoshi nodded shyly, examining the bandages.  
  
"Kimura, I finished setting up the drive reader-- hey, I offered to let you crash here, not harass my patients." Shingo came in through what looked like a thick hatchway in the wall, carrying a small medical kit. His hair stuck out at odd angles. "I told you, they're not Tower spies."  
  
Nakai sat up and was immediately overwhelmed. The room was a sea of color; above the pile of vividly patterned pillows he and Tsuyoshi were nested in, the walls and ceiling were muraled with vibrant scenery, trees and mountains and clouds drawing up to a sprawling golden sun in the center. Even stranger, the light in the room seemed to be coming from the paint itself, glowing brilliantly from the edges of the sun outward into the sky. He'd never seen so much color before in his life.  
  
"Electric paint," Tsuyoshi murmured, pushing himself up with his good arm and looking around with awe. "It's beautiful. Did you paint it?"  
  
"A long time ago. I don't usually sleep down here, though." Shingo waded through the pillows and crouched in front of Tsuyoshi. "Mind if I check your arm?"  
  
"Can't be too careful," Kimura muttered, pushing off from the pile of pillows. "I don't trust anyone who looks too familiar." He shot a suspicious glance at Nakai.  
  
"You don't trust anyone, period." Shingo pulled out the glasses he'd worn the previous night, tapping the frame a few times. "Anyone with enough guts to stand up to a patrol's good enough in _my_ books."  
  
Tsuyoshi laughed softly, wincing in pain. "Thanks for helping us. How much do I owe you?"  
  
"We'll figure that out later," Shingo replied, smiling at him. "You'll have to stay here for a while, at least 'til it heals." He glanced at Nakai. "You too."  
  
Nakai frowned. How long would that be? Several weeks? But it wasn't like he could go back, now--  
  
A finger jabbed the side of his head. Nakai leaned away, looking up; Kimura was standing over him, smirking. "Guess you'll have plenty of time to get to _know_ each other, then. 'Specially if you keep waking up like _that_ in the morning."  
  
Nakai flushed, looking away guiltily.  
  
Shingo looked amused, but thankfully didn't say anything, tucking the glasses back into his medical kit. "What possessed you to pick a fight with the patrols, anyway?"  
  
He'd been looking at Nakai, but Tsuyoshi answered instead. "They killed my carnations." He frowned, eyebrows drawing together in concern. "I'd just transplanted those seedlings that morning, they're probably withering on the pavement by now..."  
  
Kimura snorted. "You're worried about a bunch of _flowers_? It's a wonder you're not already dead."  
  
Shingo threw a look at Kimura, and turned to Nakai. "And you came to his rescue? That's... pretty unusual for someone like you."  
  
_Someone like you?_ Nakai focused on Shingo's face, trying to read his expression. There didn't seem to be anything hidden behind his smile. Not like the way _they_ smiled.  
  
"Well, you're safe here for now," Shingo told them, patting Tsuyoshi's shoulder as he stood. "I'm gonna be out for a bit, but there's food and stuff upstairs if you need anything. And Kimura'll be here, too."  
  
Kimura folded his arms. "I'm coming with you."  
  
Shingo frowned. "You can't, if anyone recognizes you--"  
  
"You're going through the sewers, right? No one'll see me, and you're gonna need help."  
  
"Idiot, that's where you--" Shingo broke off, glancing at Nakai and Tsuyoshi. He flashed another smile at them, and yanked Kimura out the door.  
  
Nakai rubbed his temple, wondering what exactly he'd gotten himself into. Had he really thrown away his entire life, just like that? Could you really escape the Tower that easily?  
  
Tsuyoshi reached out, touching the small of his back lightly with his fingertips. "Your back's so straight."  
  
Nakai looked down and realized he was sitting rigidly upright, ankles together, with his hands flat on his lap. _Perfect posture at all times. Check._

Shingo dropped down from the ladder into brackish, ankle-deep water. He edged along the wall, keeping his feet under the surface so as not to splash, and scanned around the corner.  
  
Behind him, Kimura followed suit noiselessly. He'd insisted no matter what; Shingo was glad to have help, but Kimura was already in enough danger as it was. The patrols down here didn't stop to ask questions, either.  
  
They crept through the sewer, following the flow of the water downward at each junction. Shingo paused, adjusting his boots; the water was deeper here.  
  
Kimura grabbed his shoulder and pulled him down, flattening against the wall. Through the concrete, Shingo could feel the faint vibration of a patrol's stomping footsteps. It was a few junctions away, moving towards them.  
  
No choice. If they stayed in one spot too long, they'd leave heat traces behind. He looked at Kimura and signaled onward.  
  
They slipped through the tunnel quickly, water swirling around their knees. The current grew stronger and deeper until the tunnel widened and the rushing of the water rose to a roar ahead of them; they'd reached the falls. Shingo unslung the rope from his shoulder and hooked one end to a rusted-down grate bar sticking up through the flow. Kimura kept watch, crouching low in the water to cover his body heat.  
  
He started climbing down the rope as fast as he could-- he wasn't used to sneaking around quite as much as Kimura-- but halfway down, he felt unmistakeable vibrations in the concrete through the rushing water. A patrol was close, very close, Kimura needed to get out of sight _now_ \--  
  
He slid the rest of the way down the rope, landing hard on the ledge at the bottom, and looked up anxiously. The rope came tumbling down after him-- Kimura had unhooked it, what was he _doing_ \--  
  
Kimura came leaping over the edge of the falls, diving headfirst in a graceful arc into the lake below. He surfaced, spitting water and shaking his hair back, and swam towards the ledge. Shingo grabbed his collar and hauled him bodily out of the water.  
  
"Idiot!" he hissed in Kimura's ear, pressing them both close to the wall behind the tumbling water. "You could've broken your _neck_!" Kimura grinned in exhilaration and leaned against the concrete, feeling for vibrations. The patrol drew nearer and nearer, so close that it had to be at the junction leading to the falls, and stopped. Had Kimura moved quickly enough? Could it sense them anyway? A thousand things that might give them away ran through Shingo's brain-- the carbon dioxide level in the air, the pulse of their heartbeats through the thundering falls, even the faint traces of DNA in the water-- and then the patrol moved on, stomping footsteps gradually fading into nothing.  
  
Shingo breathed a sigh of relief, and punched Kimura in the arm.  
  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Nakai turned, nervously, as Tsuyoshi broke the silence their departing saviors had left. "Huh?"  
  
Tsuyoshi beamed at him. "For rescuing me. Thank you."  
  
"Oh." Nakai flailed about for words but couldn't find any. He hadn't really thought about doing it, it had just felt... _right_.  
  
_Then what about all those other people? The ones you didn't_ \-- He pushed the thought away. "I-- I lost the flower, though. I'm sorry."  
  
"It's okay." Tsuyoshi reached over and took his hand, weaving their fingers together. "I'll grow another one for you."  
  
Nakai looked down at their hands, his chest tightening. It was familiar and strange all at once-- until yesterday, he couldn't remember the last time he'd held someone's hand. Maybe he never had. They hadn't approved of it.  
  
And yet, somehow... He looked up, realizing Tsuyoshi was staring at him.  
  
"Are you sure we haven't met before?" Tsuyoshi frowned, and shook his head before Nakai could respond. "No, that's impossible, isn't it. You're a suit, after all."  
  
"A suit?" Nakai glanced down at his office clothes. The jacket was torn, the slacks and undershirt smeared with dirt. Tsuyoshi's clothes weren't much better, although he recalled they'd already been pretty ragged to start with.  
  
"A Tower worker," Tsuyoshi clarified. "But you're free now." He squeezed Nakai's hand, smiling at him again. Their eyes met, and Nakai felt that same flood of familiarity again, warmth welling up in his veins and tightening his fingers around Tsuyoshi's--  
  
His stomach growled, loud and plaintive.  
  
Tsuyoshi laughed, and pulled them both up. "Me too. Let's go see what Shingo has to eat!"  
  
  
They made their way past the underground lake and into a series of tunnels-- no longer sewers, but caves, too narrow for any patrol to fit through. Shingo switched his goggles to thermal; there wasn't enough light for normal night vision anymore.  
  
It'd been several years since he'd last been down here. Would they still remember him? Would he be able to convince them to help him?  
  
A low voice emanated from the tunnel ahead of him, seemingly out of thin air. "Halt. State your business."  
  
Shingo squinted through his goggles, but as usual there was no trace of heat to be found. How did they do it? "Katori Shingo. I've come to provide medical services. The man with me is my-- assistant."  
  
A pause. "We did not request your help."  
  
"I came voluntarily. I'm one of you-- or at least I was, a long time ago." A chunk of rock seemed to break away from the wall, resolving into the shape of a figure. Kimura shifted behind him; Shingo motioned for him to stay.  
  
The figure approached Shingo cautiously-- scanning for facial recognition, he remembered, and lifted his goggles out of the way. The tunnel was pitch black.  
  
"Katori Shingo, welcome. Please put your goggles back on and follow me."  
  
The figure led them through the winding tunnels until the rock around them smoothed into a man-made doorway.  
  
"You may remove your goggles now." The doorway opened, light pouring into the tunnel; Shingo pushed his goggles into his hair, blinking at the sudden change. Behind him, Kimura cursed under his breath. The light was fairly dim, but it was probably blinding to his right eye, not having the benefit of thermal vision his left did.  
  
A guard on the other side greeted them and led them into a large, open cave. Lamps hung from the walls, illuminating rows of dwellings built into the rock, furnished with curtain doorways and odds and ends from above. In the center of the cavern, a group of people were cooking over several small gasfire stoves; more hallways led off from the far end, leading, Shingo remembered, to several more caverns like this one. Nostalgia washed over him; it looked as if nothing had changed since he'd left.  
  
He was careful not to look at the murals along the walls, though. There was only so much nostalgia he could take.  
  
A plump, elderly lady broke away from the stoves to greet Shingo with outstretched hands. "Katori! I had a feeling I needed to be in this cavern today." She took Shingo's hands, squeezing them tightly. Shingo returned the gesture with a fond smile.  
  
"Your sight was correct as always, Madame. I'm sorry it's been so long."  
  
Madame, unofficial governer of the underground, bobbed her head and gave Shingo's arms a pat. "Indeed, indeed. But my, I did not see that you would be bringing along such a handsome friend." She turned towards Kimura, peering at him in the lamplight.  
  
"Kimura Takuya, my assistant." Kimura nodded, glancing at Shingo out of the corner of his eye.  
  
Madame tilted her head, studying Kimura's face. "Curious, you remind me-- but never mind, come along. You are here to provide medical help, are you not?" She headed down a side cave, skirts swishing with a purposeful air.  
  
"Assistant?" Kimura murmured, poking Shingo in the side as they followed her.  
  
Shingo poked him back. "Would you prefer bodyguard?"

 

Tsuyoshi stirred the pot of noodles, glancing at the time on the clock. Next to him, Nakai watched quietly-- he'd looked around at the food in Shingo's kitchen like he was standing in a completely alien world, so it had fallen to Tsuyoshi to fix something to eat. There was only so much you could do with one arm, though, so instant ramen it was.  
  
"Okay, now we add the spices, and let it simmer a bit, and then it'll be ready." He set the spoon down, smiling at Nakai. "Can you open the packets for me?"  
  
Nakai carefully did so, sniffing one of them curiously. "What does it taste like?"  
  
"Salty and savory and delicious," Tsuyoshi assured him, emptying the packets into the water. "Like a bowl of heaven."  
  
"A bowl of heaven." Nakai repeated the words slowly, like he wasn't sure what they meant. Tsuyoshi wondered what exactly Nakai had eaten all his life.  
  
When he decided the noodles had simmered enough, he picked up the pot awkwardly with one hand to pour the broth into two bowls. "I can--" Nakai started to offer, but at that moment a stab of pain ran through Tsuyoshi's broken arm and he reflexively dropped the pot back on the burner, splashing broth on his hand and hissing in pain.  
  
Nakai grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the sink, running cold water over his fingers. "I'm sorry, I should have helped you, I--"  
  
"It's okay." Tsuyoshi winced as the pain slowly numbed over. "That was stupid of me."  
  
Nakai glanced at him like he wanted to protest, but quickly looked away again. They _were_ awfully close together, Tsuyoshi realized. But that was okay, Nakai was familiar and comforting, he'd rescued Tsuyoshi, he'd been the one who'd protected him in his nightmare...  
  
It was like something was trying to push its way forward from the back of his mind. He leaned against Nakai's shoulder with a sigh. "We _do_ know each other, don't we?"  
  
Nakai looked down uncertainly, cold water running over their fingers. He took a breath, and Tsuyoshi looked up--  
  
  
"That's the last of them," Shingo said, rinsing his hands in a basin. "I'll leave a few cryoneedles in case the tumor in his foot starts to grow again."  
  
Madame brought a towel over, patting Shingo's hands dry for him. "Always a diligent doctor. It's a shame your mentor can't see you now." Shingo looked down at his hands; Madame was quiet for a moment as well. Then, folding the towel with a businesslike motion, she sat on the floor across from him and gave him a sharp look. "What is it you want?"  
  
Shingo smiled, packing his supplies back into their waterproof pockets. "I need a safe place for two."  
  
Kimura jerked upright from where he'd been leaning against the wall. "You're kidding, all this for..."  
  
"Two?" Madame looked between them curiously.  
  
"Not for us," Shingo clarified hastily. "We're still safe enough in the city. But I took in a pair of refugees yesterday who need to escape the Tower."  
  
"I see." Madame nodded thoughtfully. "And there is no chance you can seek help from the rebels?"  
  
Shingo shook his head. "I'm hardly on good terms with them, any more than you are. They'd just as soon suspect me of planting spies."  
  
"True enough. I fear Mori will only grow more extreme the more time passes." Madame sighed. "We will consider it. It is no easy task to find safety anywhere, these days." Her expression softened. "But you know that already. Come, I will see you out."  
  
At the door, she took Shingo's hands again. "Always such a compassionate young man. I once knew someone like that, long ago." She pursed her lips, fixing Shingo with a curious look, and then turned and grasped Kimura's hands as well, to his startled surprise. "And you, stay by his side. He'll need a good assistant to take care of him, that one." Shingo rolled his eyes. Kimura looked down at the hands wrapped around his own and didn't say anything.  
  
They were almost back at the lake when Kimura finally spoke up. "Are you crazy? All that time and effort for two random strangers you met _yesterday_? One of them even works for the Tower--"  
  
Shingo glanced over, switching back to night vision. "Not anymore, I keep telling you, they're not spies--"  
  
Kimura shook his head. " _Stupid_. You don't know how the Tower works."  
  
"Well, what was I supposed to do, let them be captured by patrols?"  
  
"Might've saved a lot of trouble."  
  
Shingo bit back a retort, glaring at Kimura even though the man couldn't see it. It was just the way Kimura saw things; it was the way he'd survived this long, after all. But in the end, did anything even _matter_ to him?  
  
A patrol was waiting at the top of the falls.  
  
Shingo scrambled over the edge, narrowly avoiding a swinging fist. He couldn't dodge the second one in time; it caught his shoulder, sending him flying into the wall. The other hand came back around, fingers sharping into blades, and he ducked forward as it shrieked across the wall behind him. He threw himself against the patrol desperately, shoving with all his might, it was the only thing that might give them enough time to escape--  
  
Kimura ran up the side of the tunnel and whipped through the air, slamming down on the patrol with his full weight. The combined force knocked the patrol off-balance; it toppled backwards into the water, sending a massive wave crashing over the falls.  
  
No time to catch their breath-- they turned and ran.  
  
  
"We _do_ know each other, don't we?"  
  
Nakai looked down in surprise as Tsuyoshi leaned against him. It was true, there was something intimately familiar about the younger man, as if something he'd lost long ago had suddenly come back to him. It made Nakai want to protect him instinctively, to keep him close by so that he wouldn't lose him again.  
  
He drew a deep breath without any idea what he wanted to say, and Tsuyoshi lifted his head.  
  
Nakai remembered kissing a girl once, years ago. Before corrections, before the grey van. They hadn't been happy about it; she'd left the room they'd taken her to quietly, tears streaming down her cheeks. And then it had been his turn. They'd never looked at each other again.  
  
The rebellious part of him stirred, stretching after years of vigilant suppression. _They can't tell you what to do anymore._  
  
He gazed steadily at Tsuyoshi, his heart pounding--  
  
There was a distant sound of knocking. They froze, listening.  
  
Again, from somewhere above. Nakai shut the water off. They were here, they were watching him, they knew what he'd been about to do--  
  
"I think someone's at the door," Tsuyoshi whispered. Nakai fought back the wave of fear threatening to wash over him. There was no way they could have tracked him here. Right? He took Tsuyoshi's hand and crept into the main room. There was a nest of wire-tangled monitors above the desk along the far wall; one showed a view of a doorway and the street beyond it. A man dressed in ragged clothes was standing at the door, raising his hand to knock again.  
  
Tsuyoshi squeezed his hand. "Should we answer?"  
  
Nakai shook his head. "Let's wait for Shingo." Despite the worn-looking clothes, there was something about the way the man held himself, too straight, too perfect...

 

They took the long way back to Shingo's, ducking through unoccupied buildings and fenced-off lots to throw off potential pursuit as much as possible.  
  
"So. We just blow their cover? Whatser name and all."  
  
"Madame. No, they'll close off the entrance. They've got others."  
  
They paused under a train overpass, Kimura flicking his second earring to check the channel. No sign of pursuers so far. Shingo glanced over. "Your arm's bleeding."  
  
"I know. Got clipped when the guy fell."  
  
They moved on. Almost home. "You shouldn't've come."  
  
"Why? I'll be fine."  
  
"That's not what I mean, you-- you get carried away. Like jumping off the falls."  
  
Kimura shot a look at him. "I wouldn't've had to if you'd been faster on the rope."  
  
Shingo gritted his teeth. "You wouldn't've had to if you hadn't been there at all."  
  
"You'd be _dead_ if I hadn't been there!" Kimura hissed back.  
  
"If you hadn't _pissed me off_ , I would've _noticed_ \--" Shingo nearly crashed into Kimura as he stiffened and stopped short. His place was just around the corner, someone was there in the alleyway--  
  
Kimura sprang, launching himself from the wall. The figure whirled and caught the brunt of Kimura's weight on his chest, and for a horrified moment Shingo thought Kimura had just attacked a normal streetperson when the figure rolled and threw Kimura off, street clothes slipping to reveal tight black underneath. The man hesitated, considering, and then turned to make a break for it. Shingo grabbed him, hooking an elbow around the veins in his neck.  
  
"Tower, this is--" Shingo tightened his hold. The man passed out a second later, and as he went limp Shingo caught a glimpse of a diamond-shape under his collar. A spy.  
  
He exchanged glances with Kimura. "Inside. Now."  
  
  
Nakai jumped as the door burst open, even though he and Tsuyoshi had seen the fight on the security monitor-- Shingo and Kimura were hauling the intruder inside. They propped the man roughly in a chair, stripping away the guise of ragged street clothes to bind his hands and feet. Underneath, he was dressed in close-fitting black, with enough straps and pockets hidden away that it seemed to be a part of his body-- an elite, Nakai realized, fighting the urge to hide behind Tsuyoshi.  
  
The man lifted his head a few seconds later, blinking disorientedly, and immediately snapped to attention. He strained against the ropes, nearly toppling the chair; Kimura grabbed the back, slamming it back down.  
  
Shingo folded his arms, his expression cold. "Who are you?"  
  
The man blinked and stopped struggling. He squinted at Shingo. "Are you-- rebels?"  
  
Kimura grabbed the man by his hair, pulling his head back roughly. There was a metallic sound, and in a flash of reflected light he held a knife to the man's throat. Nakai stiffened, holding his breath.  
  
Shingo looked at him in alarm. "Kimura--"  
  
" _We're_ asking the questions." Kimura leaned down to talk into the man's ear. "Why were you spying on us? What's so special about us?"  
  
"Wait!" The man swallowed against the knife blade. "We're not-- I'm not a spy, I--"  
  
Kimura twisted his hand in the man's hair, pressing the knife harder against his throat. "Answer me! What's the Tower want with us?"  
  
_\--a knife blade against his throat. The man smiled at him in the mirror--_  
  
"I don't-- know--" The man choked against the pressure. "I-- want to-- help--"  
  
Kimura looked up at Shingo. His hand tightened on the blade--  
  
_\--he opened his eyes again and looked in the mirror, at the hand holding the knife--_  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Nakai opened his eyes. Tsuyoshi had torn away, grabbing Kimura's arm. "Don't, please don't-- I believe him--"  
  
Kimura relaxed the knife, staring down at Tsuyoshi. For a moment, an odd expression flickered over his face, as if he'd suddenly recalled something, but it vanished as soon as it had appeared. He scowled, pulling his arm out of Tsuyoshi's grip. "He's a spy for the Tower."  
  
Tsuyoshi withered under his look, confidence faltering. "But-- he said he wanted to help, we could at least let him talk." He looked to Shingo desperately.  
  
"Kimura, wait," Shingo interrupted finally. He looked tired. "Let's hear him out."  
  
Kimura withdrew the knife, folding it away, and Nakai let himself breathe again.  
  
"You heard him, then." Kimura shoved the man's head roughly. "Talk."  
  
  
"My name is Inagaki Goro. W-- I am an agent for the Tower-- they took me in from the streets when I was a kid and raised to be one of their soldiers. But--" Inagaki drew a breath, as if he was bracing himself for the words he was about to say. "But I never wanted to. I _hated_ them. I wanted to escape."  
  
He looked down, his face dark. "I had to obey them, and pretend I was loyal to them, and carry out their missions. It seemed like I would never have the chance to run.  
  
"But then, I was sent by the Tower to look for a missing data drive--" Shingo glanced at Kimura over Inagaki's head. Kimura was right, it had to be important if the Tower was moving this quickly. "And the tracking signal in it led here. I was supposed to infiltrate and retrieve the drive, and eliminate anyone who had found out too much."  
  
Inagaki raised his head, looking up at Shingo. "But you're strong, you defeated me easily," he glanced over at Nakai and Tsuyoshi, "and you know how to protect people." He leaned forward desperately, not waiting for an answer. "Please, I need your help. I need to escape, I can't serve them anymore, they'll see through me eventually and then--"  
  
Kimura yanked him back against the chair. " _Liar_. If you're such a good actor, why should we believe you?"  
  
"I can prove it!" Inagaki frantically motioned over his shoulder with his chin. "The data drive I have-- there is a tracking chip in it. I can leave data on it to throw them off, and then you can take it somewhere away from here. As though I kept searching somewhere else."  
  
Kimura hesitated, looking to Shingo. Should they trust him? Shingo stared at the man's face-- a fragment of something glittered at the back of his thoughts, like a piece of mirror at the bottom of a pond. He tried to catch whatever it was, but it slipped away, insubstantial, a scrap of half-remembered dream-- now wasn't the time for distractions, anyway. He nodded. "It's our only choice."  
  
"What about the other drive?" Tsuyoshi spoke up. "Won't it still give us away?"  
  
"Nothing can transmit in or out of this place," Shingo answered. "But they might be suspicious if they don't see it transmitting at all."  
  
Kimura shot a glare at them-- probably for admitting they even had the drive-- but Inagaki nodded purposefully. "I will tell them the battery on the tracker must have worn down." He tilted his head slightly, as if flicking some kind of mental switch.  
  
" _Data50330investigationnegativewillproceedsearchouterdistrictlog50331timeoverride141535overridesignalinfrequentpossiblebatterymalfunctionwillreportifsignallostlogenddata_." He blinked, and focused on them again. "There. It should keep them busy, I promise." He tilted his head forward, exposing the back of his neck. "You can take it out now."  
  
Kimura pulled the data drive out, turning it over in his fingers cautiously. He squinted at Inagaki with clear distrust. Shingo wanted to agree, but Tsuyoshi was right, there was something telling him to believe the man, something instinctive. Anyway, first things first, to get rid of the tracker as soon as possible. He'd have to wait until evening, but that'd give him time to--  
  
Kimura slipped the drive into a pocket and turned to leave. _Not_ what Shingo had in mind.  
  
" _Kimura_ \--" Shingo started after him. "Dammit, you're already in enough danger as it is--"  
  
"I'm faster than you," Kimura replied. "And you've already done enough stupid things today."  
  
"Don't tell _me_ that--" Kimura was out the door before he could catch him. "Dammit!" Shingo shut the door a little harder than necessary. _Idiot_ , diving recklessly headfirst, not stopping to even think. He was going to get himself killed, like he nearly had a year ago...

 

Kimura slipped through the rainy streets, pulling his hood up. Which way should he go? He'd caught _outer district_ in the jumble of words the spy had uttered. Best to continue outward, then, into the districts closer to the wall, pretending to check various buildings along the way. At any rate, he wanted to get as far as possible from Shingo's before he stashed the drive.  
  
He ducked into a side-alley, crossing into the next street over. He dimly remembered Shingo telling him that they used to have names, a long time ago, before the Tower had taken over. But Shingo didn't remember any, and Kimura had never known any. They were all numbered blocks now, flickering with vidscreens in the rain.  
  
Kimura rubbed his arm. He probably should have let Shingo bandage his cut first. Whatever, he'd had worse. This was more important. That idiot.  
  
He passed through another alleyway; he could see the wall in the distance beyond the buildings now. All buildings deemed too close to the wall had been razed long ago, leaving a wide ring of flattened debris that trying to cross would get you captured in a heartbeat. But other than that, the Tower's control was weak out here, and right up to the very line of destruction the buildings were clustered together in defiantly misshapen fortresses, forming alleys that curled and crooked into tight passages that even patrols were wary of. The street people would do whatever they could to survive. And then there were the rebels.  
  
Kimura paused to lean nonchalantly against a corner, watching from under his hood as people hurried by under battered umbrellas. A cat missing an eye scurried past, its tail slung low.  
  
They'd asked him to join them, once. He knew how to fight, he knew how to hide, and he hated the Tower passionately. But part of surviving was that you only fought or hid when you needed to, and you didn't rely on others. You couldn't rely on others.  
  
He moved on, slipping back inwards to a larger street. He was impersonating a spy, after all, not someone who knew he could pass through those tight passages safely. How far should he go before dumping the tracker? Who knew what the spy might be telling Shingo, he wouldn't be stupid enough to let him loose but Kimura wanted to get back as soon as possible, just in case--  
  
Was that a car he heard?  
  
People vanished from the street; Kimura ducked into a side alley, climbing up to an overhanging windowsill and listening for the quiet hum of the motor over the raindrops. It grew louder, slow on the narrow street but steadily approaching. There it was, grey in the grey of the rain. Kimura knew before it stopped that it was searching for him.  
  
Or rather, for the person he was pretending to be. The car rolled to a stop next to the alley, the engine still humming quietly. There were two occupants, a flick to thermal told him, and they seemed to be waiting. Which meant he had to do something, or they'd quickly realize something was up. Now what?  
  
The sound of flapping wings caught his attention; a pigeon had taken refuge from the rain under the overhanging eave. Kimura eyed it, and then reached for his shoelace.  
  
  
"Are you hungry?"  
  
Tsuyoshi set one of the bowls of ramen onto the table; Nakai followed suit, glancing uneasily past him at Shingo and the newcomer.  
  
Shingo turned from where he was adjusting-- Goro, was it?-- Goro's bonds. "You haven't eaten yet? Don't worry, I'll fix something for myself."  
  
"What about..." Tsuyoshi looked at Goro uncertainly. The other man blinked as if startled by the offer, then glanced down at the bonds around his chest. "Oh, right. Sorry." All that rope... It was for the best, Tsuyoshi knew; you couldn't always trust what your instincts told you, but he'd felt it so strongly, almost as strong as with Nakai. He could trust that, right?  
  
He looked at Nakai; the older man was holding the chopsticks awkwardly, staring at the noodles with a look of intense concentration.  
  
Tsuyoshi laughed and sat down next to him, picking up his own chopsticks. "Here, you eat it like this." He caught a mouthful of noodles and slurped them up noisily. Ahh, delicious.  
  
Nakai stared at him wide-eyed; across the room, Goro also stared. Maybe the Tower didn't like people eating noisily? No wonder Nakai didn't even know what ramen was! Tsuyoshi smiled, a little mischievously, and nudged Nakai with his shoulder. "Now you try."  
  
Nakai hesitated, glancing at Goro again, and then lifted the chopsticks, sloppily slurping up a bite of noodles. He nearly dropped the chopsticks, coughing and swallowing hastily. "It's--" he stared down at the bowl, leaning in to smell it. "It's _salty_."  
  
Tsuyoshi frowned. Was it too strong? "I can add some more water if it's too salty--"  
  
"It's _amazing_." Nakai leaned forward for another bite, and then another one. "Like," he paused, glancing over at Tsuyoshi with a tiny curve of smile, "a bowl of heaven."  
  
Tsuyoshi grinned; Nakai looked like he still wasn't quite sure what that meant, but now maybe he was beginning to understand. "Good," he replied, nudging his shoulder again. Whatever else there was that the Tower had kept Nakai from learning, Tsuyoshi would be happy to teach him.  
  
Shingo stood, eyeing Goro's bonds, and finally seemed to look satisfied. "Right," he said, circling around to sit in front of Goro on the arm of the couch. "Now, if you really wanna prove you're on our side, I've got some questions I want you to answer."  
  
  
Kimura watched as the pigeon flapped away through the rain, disappearing into the haze of grey. A moment later, the car below began to move again, heading in the direction the bird-- and the drive tied to its leg-- had flown.  
  
The moment the car disappeared, a tapping noise came from behind Kimura; he turned, his hand reaching for his knife instinctively, but it was a young girl behind the glass, holding up a tightly folded piece of paper. There was a triangle of three dots painted on her fingernail-- a rebel. The girl slipped the paper through the crack under the window and hurried away.  
  
Kimura unfolded the paper and frowned. What was this supposed to mean?  
  
_5 stars_  
  
That was it, no other hint of writing anywhere else on the paper. It didn't smell of any kind of hidden ink, either. He glanced up, but the girl was long gone. Obviously they hadn't been waiting for a response from _him_.  
  
He swung himself up onto the roof, and began to make his way back to Shingo's.

 

"So you don't know what's on the drive, or why they sent you to find it?" Shingo folded his arms, frowning. "Gotta be pretty important, to send someone after it this fast."  
  
Inagaki shook his head. "All the more reason not to tell me, I assume. I never questioned their reasons."  
  
Nakai listened quietly, poking at leftover noodle bits. It felt like Inagaki kept looking at him. A small part of him wanted to trust the man-- but everything about him made Nakai want to sit up straight and keep his eyes down, as if it was the Tower itself watching him through those eyes.  
  
"The spy who had it attacked Kimura. And now they've got a report out for him to be killed. Why's he so important?"  
  
Inagaki looked down as if in thought. "We-- they had him reported as a criminal already for numerous vandalizations. Fighting with a spy might have been enough to upgrade his criminal status, but I do not know why the spy might have targeted him."  
  
Shingo furrowed his eyebrows, leaning against the arm of the couch. Nakai drew a breath and looked up. "What about us? Are we on the-- criminal list?"  
  
Inagaki turned his head, meeting his eyes with an expression Nakai couldn't read. "Yes." Next to Nakai, Tsuyoshi fidgeted with his bandages. "But," Inagaki added, "not yet on the list of those to be exterminated. W-- they do not like to waste valuable resources."  
  
He turned back to Shingo. "I know it must be hard to believe me, but I wish to help the rebels in any way I can--"  
  
Shingo waved his hand. "I'm not a rebel. They'd just kill someone like you, anyway."  
  
Inagaki looked faintly stunned, closing his mouth. Nakai wondered how far _someone like you_ extended. He certainly didn't want anything to do with the Tower anymore, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to meet these rebels either.  
  
A series of quiet clicks interrupted the silence. Shingo crossed the room quickly, brushing his fingers across a monitor to reveal a solid wall of text and numbers. "Damn! Just as I thought, it can't decode it." He sighed and sat down heavily, finger-scrolling through the text.  
  
Tsuyoshi got up to look over his shoulder. "What is it?"  
  
"It's--" Shingo glanced over at Inagaki. "It's the drive from the spy who tried to kill Kimura." He scratched his fingers through his hair, squinting at the screen. "But the technology the Tower uses is different, this looks like it isn't even _meant_ for a computer. If we can't find out why they're after Kimura--"  
  
"I could read it."  
  
They looked over. Inagaki tilted his chin back over his shoulder. "It _is_ what I am built for." He glanced at Nakai again and then frowned uncertainly. "If you believe me, that is. I-- don't expect you to." He looked down, voice softening. "I've been with the Tower so long that it's hard to know what to believe, sometimes. But there's something inside me that keeps fighting, something that keeps telling me that this isn't who I'm supposed to be..."  
  
_This isn't who I'm supposed to be._ Nakai swallowed involuntarily, the saltiness of the soup still tingling at the back of his throat. That was what he'd felt, the moment he'd cracked-- like there was someone else he was supposed to be, someone who didn't do what the Tower said, someone who knew what it meant to care for people and _standing there and watching wasn't it_.  
  
He stood, dropping the chopsticks with a clatter. "We'll help you." He met Inagaki's eyes-- yes, there _was_ something familiar there, if hidden in the lines of his face-- "We'll help you escape the Tower. If you help us."  
  
  
Inagaki flexed his freed hands, reaching up to straighten his disheveled hair. "I cannot promise to be able to access everything," he said, pulling down his collar. "There may be restricted sections only the intended agent can access."  
  
Shingo bent to examine the diamond shape in Inagaki's neck. He'd read about the horrors of the Tower's human modification experiments, but up close there was something curiously... elegant about it. "How's it work?  
  
"Nerve impulses transmitted to the brain which are interpreted as recollections of experienced sensations." Inagaki smirked faintly. "Memories, in other words."  
  
"Memories?" Shingo traced the tip of his finger cautiously along the edge of the diamond. "You simply remember what's in the data?"  
  
"Yes. It is faster than being briefed, and allows us to instantly recall everything we have been informed with perfect accuracy."  
  
Tsuyoshi peered over Shingo's shoulder. "I'd like to be able to remember everything like that."  
  
"They give you new memories?" Nakai hung back at an uneasy distance, eyeing Inagaki's neck. "They can't rewrite the ones you already have, can they?"  
  
Inagaki shook his head. "Unlikely. Memories are not so easy to replace." He bent his head forward, reaching back with one open hand. "If I may?"  
  
Shingo handed the drive to him, watching as he fitted it lengthwise along the slot in the diamond. It clicked into place, and Inagaki tilted his head to the side. " _Accessdata_." He closed his eyes as if watching something inside his head. "Mission: find civilian Kimura Takuya and bring to Tower. Any condition is acceptable as long as brain remains intact. If subject is judged too dangerous to complete mission, approval is granted for use of deadly force."  
  
Shingo frowned. "Must be what the other spy was doing. What'd they want his brain for?"  
  
Inagaki ignored the question, his eyes still closed. "There's information on his crimes and who he associates with. I see _he_ attacked a patrol as well."  
  
Nakai started; Tsuyoshi reached for his hand, flashing him a sideways smile.  
  
Shingo narrowed his eyes. "It was hardly what I'd call an _attack_." _Kimura slumped on his doorstep, clutching his face as blood pooled underfoot_... "Whatever. Anything about why they're out for him?"  
  
"Not in so many words. Perhaps he was to be recruited, especially if he has no family--" Inagaki suddenly furrowed his brow. "Potential match for Five Stars Project?"  
  
"What's that?" Shingo folded his arms, trying to remember where he'd heard the term before. Five stars... "Some new kind of experiment?"  
  
" _Accessfivestarsproject_." Inagaki was silent for a moment, then opened his eyes. "Restricted."  
  
"Can you hack into it?"  
  
Inagaki shook his head. "It is tuned biologically to the agent it was intended for. Only he would have been able to access it."  
  
"I wonder if they mean the Five Stars like in that kid's story?" Tsuyoshi looked up at Shingo. "The one where they turn into light and defeat the darkness to save the city."  
  
"That's where I've heard it!" Shingo jabbed the air with his finger. "But that's a fairy tale, no one really believes the five are gonna come back."  
  
Nakai blinked slowly. "They... tried to save the city, didn't they?"  
  
"You know it, too?" Tsuyoshi squeezed his hand. "I learned it when I was a kid, back when I was in a gang."  
  
Nakai looked down. "My mother told it to me," he said softly. "A very long time ago."  
  
"Never heard of it." Inagaki looked up at them curiously. "Do you mean the rebels who tried to overthrow the Tower?"  
  
Tsuyoshi nodded. "In the story, they turned into light and escaped so they could come back and lead everyone in a rebellion again."  
  
Inagaki let out a little huff of air that sounded like a laugh. "Everyone knows they were killed. I cannot imagine the Tower would take something like that seriously."  
  
He had a point, even if the way he said it made Shingo want to knock him out again. He could remember laughing at the story when his little brother had told it to him, back when they were underground; it was obviously just a silly story people had made up to keep themselves going. What was more important was--  
  
His watch vibrated on his wrist, and he glanced over at the monitors. _Finally_ , Kimura was back, he'd better be in one piece or Shingo was gonna _kill_ him...  
  
  
"But why would they want it delivered to _me_?" Shingo stared down at the paper Kimura had handed him. "You're the one the Tower wanted for this Five Stars thing."  
  
Kimura eyed Inagaki's untied hands. "If he's telling the truth about what's on there." He circled around the younger man, looking down at the diamond in his neck.  
  
"Why would I lie?" Inagaki protested over his shoulder. "I came here because I want to _help_ you--"  
  
Kimura shoved his head forward, flicking open his switchblade. "It'd still be safer to kill you."  
  
"Kimura!" Shingo turned, but before he could even reach out Kimura had pried the drive out of Inagaki's neck and pocketed it. The dark-haired man hissed in pain, clutching at the diamond with one hand.  
  
"What're you doing? You could've hurt him!" Tsuyoshi rushed forward, bending over Inagaki in concern. "Are you okay?" Inagaki nodded silently, not looking up.  
  
Kimura closed the switchblade. "Retie his hands. Or I really _will_ hurt him."  
  
Tsuyoshi glared up at him. "We promised to _help_ him."  
  
"It's fine," Inagaki said weakly, lifting his head. He put his hands behind his back. "You can retie me. I've been a prisoner all my life, I can handle being one for a little longer."  
  
Kimura narrowed his eyes. Shingo interrupted before things could get uglier. "I'll do it, Tsuyoshi. It's for everyone's safety." He knelt, fastening the bonds around Inagaki's wrists again. "Including _yours_. I'll do what I can to help you, but it'll take some time."  
  
Inagaki nodded grimly. "Understood."  
  
Tsuyoshi stepped back, leaning against Nakai. "It doesn't feel right," he said softly. Nakai looked down, not replying.  
  
Shingo stood and, before Kimura could say anything more, grabbed his arm and dragged him into the bathroom. "Sit," he ordered, pointing at the edge of the bathtub.  
  
Kimura did so, looking up at him defiantly. "I wasn't gonna kill him, if that's what you're angry about."  
  
Shingo dug through his medicine cabinet, pulling out a bottle of rubbing alcohol. "You could've short-circuited the drive reader and sent a shock to his brain." He took Kimura's arm again, cleaning the cut from the patrol in the sewers. "And you could've damaged that drive. We need to find out why the Tower's after you."  
  
"And that spy's our only choice?" Kimura gritted his teeth. "Don't tell me you _believe_ him."  
  
Shingo screwed the alcohol shut and exchanged it for a roll of gauze. ... _this isn't who I'm supposed to be_... He'd caught a glimpse of that fragment of _something_ again, just for a moment. "I want to."  
  
Kimura tried to take the gauze from Shingo. "He stays tied up 'til we've met with the rebels."  
  
Shingo yanked the gauze back, unrolling it to bandage Kimura himself. "This is _my_ house," he snapped, his hands gentle despite his tone. "And _I'll_ decide how I treat the people I take in."  
  
Kimura caught his wrist. "Please." He looked up at Shingo, his voice low. "For your safety."  
  
Shingo met his gaze, and bit back the retort he'd been about to make. He gently tugged his wrist free, wrapping the gauze around Kimura's arm. "Yours too," he replied quietly. "Don't forget that."

 

Nakai was waiting for Shingo when he stepped out of the bathroom.  
  
("And don't forget to bathe once in a while, too." Shingo wrinkled his nose. "I'm surprised the patrols didn't recognize you by your _smell_ out there."  
  
Kimura glowered at him, and shoved him towards the door.)  
  
Shingo glanced into the living room; Tsuyoshi was animatedly chattering away to Inagaki, who looked faintly overwhelmed. Nakai leaned forward, his voice low.  
  
"Um-- I'm sorry about earlier, I didn't mean to speak for everyone like that." He looked down guiltily. "You don't have to help him if you don't want to. I mean, you've already done so much to help us and we can't even pay you back--"  
  
"I want to help _everyone_ ," Shingo told him, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. "And what he said hit a nerve, didn't it? About not being who you're supposed to be."  
  
Nakai nodded slowly, frowning. "Like there's someone else I should be." He hesitated, his voice dropping even lower. "Tsuyoshi keeps saying he feels like we've met before. But there's no way we could have, at least, _I_ don't remember anything..."  
  
Shingo bit the corner of his mouth, trying not to grin. "Could just be his version of a pickup line. He _does_ seem to like you, after all."  
  
Nakai blinked, and then turned bright red. "I-I-- I don't think that's--"  
  
Tsuyoshi drifted over curiously. "Are you okay? You're not getting sick, are you?" He put his hand on Nakai's forehead, frowning in concern. "It wasn't the ramen, was it?"  
  
"I think he'll be okay," Shingo assured him. "What about you? How's the arm?"  
  
Tsuyoshi looked down at it, considering. "It hurts. But that's normal, isn't it." He rubbed at the shoulder the sling was strapped to. "Guess I'll need help showering."  
  
If possible, Nakai turned even redder. "M-maybe Shingo should do that, he's the d-doctor--"  
  
Shingo laughed. "Yeah, I should probably be the one to help you." He grinned as Nakai sagged with relief. "At least until I teach Nakai how."

  
  
Nakai almost regretted not going in with Tsuyoshi when Kimura stepped into the living room. Even with nothing but a towel around his waist, he still managed to radiate intimidation, and the look he shot Inagaki was nothing short of hostile. "I don't trust you."  
  
Inagaki blinked at his appearance. Nakai could sympathize; one simply didn't walk around naked, not in an apartment full of cameras.  
  
"You have made that quite clear," the dark-haired man replied, looking away. "I suppose it's just as well. Who knows how much influence the Tower might still have over me without my knowing." He glanced over at Nakai.  
  
Kimura reached under the couch, pulling out a wadded pile of clothes. "I've seen what the Tower does. Your kind aren't capable of changing." He shook out a shirt. There were several badly-mended tears in the fabric; Nakai realized, as Kimura turned, that they matched deep scars stretching across his back.  
  
"What happened?" The question was out of his mouth before he could think twice, and he flinched as Kimura turned his attention on him. The taller man looked down at the shirt and realized what he was talking about, glancing over his shoulder.  
  
"Not everyone gets lucky running from patrols," he said shortly, pulling the shirt over his head. He grabbed a pair of pants from the pile, shaking it out, and paused, looking from Nakai to Inagaki. Then, with a faint smirk, he let the towel drop.  
  
Nakai quickly looked away. After a second, so did Inagaki.

  
  
Tsuyoshi picked at the plastic wrapped around his new bandages, humming idly as he soaked in the bathtub. Shingo sat down to take his turn at scrubbing off.  
  
He was about halfway done when Tsuyoshi finally spoke up. "Do you think he's never been in love before?"  
  
"Huh?" Shingo blinked water out of his eyes, looking up at Tsuyoshi through his hair. "You mean Nakai?" Tsuyoshi nodded, his expression sober. Shingo shrugged, rinsing the soap off his legs. "Couldn't really say. It's true the Tower isn't big on showing emotions," he said, thinking of Inagaki's carefully schooled expression.  
  
Tsuyoshi picked at the plastic again. "Maybe he doesn't know what it _is_."  
  
"Maybe." Shingo threw him a grin. "I think he likes you, though."  
  
Tsuyoshi looked up, his expression brightening. "You do?"  
  
Shingo laughed. "It's pretty obvious."  
  
"Yeah, but..." Tsuyoshi shook his head at whatever was on his mind. "Have you ever been in love?"  
  
"Me?" There had been a few, mostly patients he'd been nursing back to health. They'd all moved on eventually, though, and Shingo found he hadn't really minded. "Guess not. Nothing really meaningful, anyway." He stood, reaching for a towel.  
  
"It's always meaningful," Tsuyoshi replied. "Hey, aren't you gonna soak?" He splashed the surface of the water with his good hand. "Come join me!"  
  
Shingo raised his eyebrows. "What, together? There won't be any water left for Nakai!"  
  
"Serves him right for not coming in with me." Tsuyoshi smiled mischievously. "If he wants a bath, he'll have to take it with me."  
  
Shingo laughed again, putting the towel away. "I don't know if I'm envious or feel bad for him." It'd been a long time since he'd felt this light; not since the days with his brother, back in the cavern. Tsuyoshi would've gotten on well with his brother-- all the more reason to look after him, he thought, and joined him in the tub with a splash.

  
  
Nakai sat in the water, staring up at the ceiling. How long should he soak for? The Tower had allotted one minute for health purposes, two for those level 8 and higher. Now he could take as long as he liked, but he wasn't sure if he found it relaxing. His heartbeat seemed loud, ticking away the seconds.  
  
_Who knows how much influence the Tower might have over me without my knowing._ Nakai looked at his hands, examining them. They looked normal. He knew better.  
  
_\--the hand holding the knife was---_  
  
He closed his eyes, clenching his hands tightly. _No, you're free now. You don't have to believe that anymore._  
  
Fifty-nine. Sixty. He should get out. They were watching him, taking notes on everything he did. Sixty-one. Sixty-two. They'd come find him and take everything away again, and he'd let them because _your kind aren't capable of changing_.  
  
He grabbed the side of the tub and heaved himself out, splashing what remained of the water onto the floor. Sixty-three.  
  
He wrapped himself in a towel and sat on the edge of the tub, shivering despite the lingering heat of the water. Kimura was right to be suspicious. Maybe the Tower really did control everything, maybe there really wasn't any escaping after all--  
  
There was a knock on the door, and Shingo poked his head in. "Brought you some clothes. Figured you probably wouldn't wanna wear that suit again."  
  
Tsuyoshi peeked over Shingo's shoulder. "Better hurry and dry off so you don't catch cold!"  
  
Warmth flooded through Nakai. It was like their voices were already there inside him, somewhere deeper than the Tower could reach. Not just Tsuyoshi's, but Shingo's, too-- they were both so familiar, like he'd spent a lifetime watching over them already. It made him want to protect them.  
  
He smiled, a bit weakly. "Thanks." He didn't know where the feeling came from, but he held onto it tightly. He'd protect them. He'd protect them, even if it meant from himself.

 

Shingo took first watch, then Kimura; by the time Tsuyoshi and Nakai climbed up the stairs again it was well past dawn and Shingo was already pulling on his jacket.  
  
"You're heading out?" Tsuyoshi yawned, rubbing his eyes. There was a plate of sandwiches on the table.  
  
" _We're_ heading out," Kimura corrected, lacing his boots. "If the rebels wanna talk, they're gonna have to find us." He glanced over at Goro. "And we don't need them finding out about some of the _guests_ here."  
  
"I have some patients to check on, as well," Shingo added, patting his pockets. "How's the arm? Still hurt?"  
  
Tsuyoshi ran his hand over the sling. "Yeah. But I slept okay, thanks to Nakai." They'd gone to sleep side-by-side, but by morning Nakai had been a warm shield of comfort wrapped around him again. It helped a lot with the pain, even if Nakai seemed awfully embarrassed about it when he woke up.  
  
Nakai blushed, and sat down on the couch quickly, peering at the sandwiches. "So, it'll just be us here?"  
  
"You and the spy." Kimura stood. "Don't untie him. Don't even talk to him, if you can help it."  
  
Tsuyoshi frowned, but Shingo just laughed. "Cheerful, isn't he?" He turned to Goro. "We do have to leave you tied up, though. I, uh, don't suppose you have to pee or anything?"  
  
"Actually, my body is modified to be able to recycle waste back into the system in an emergency situation--"  
  
"Right, I'm sorry I asked." Shingo pulled his goggles over his head, leaving them hanging loose around his neck. "Just sit tight, then, and we'll be back in no time." He patted Tsuyoshi's shoulder with a smile, and headed out the door, following by a considerably less smiley Kimura.  
  
"Well," Tsuyoshi said, plopping down next to Nakai and taking a sandwich. "That leaves us in charge, then." Nakai reached over to lift a corner of the bread curiously; it was egg salad, but Tsuyoshi was willing to bet Nakai had never even seen an egg before. Come to think of it, Goro probably hadn't either.  
  
He glanced over, still irritated by Kimura's pessimistic warnings. If he couldn't untie the man, he was at least going to show him a little hospitality. "Think your body can handle some real food?"  
  
  
Shingo bid his first patient farewell, stepping back out into the street. It was a tiny, one-room hovel, with barely enough room for the mother and her three children, but it was enough for them to survive, and survive they would now, a little longer.  
  
Kimura was crouched on the top step like a cat. "Next?"  
  
"A few blocks over." Shingo led the way, pulling his goggles on as the rain began to pick up. The buildings only got more rundown as they walked, seemingly fragile exteriors hiding lives struggling with all their might to keep living. The Tower ignored them, probably seeing only the weakness; but they were stronger than it knew, joining hands however possible to help each other survive. He stopped at a curtain doorway, knocking lightly on the wall to one side.  
  
There was no response. He knocked again, calling out his patient's name.  
  
Again, no response. He glanced back at Kimura, and they both stepped through the curtain.  
  
There were three people waiting inside. Kimura tensed, glancing behind them, but the one standing closest raised a hand, palm-inward, revealing a triangle of three dots painted on one of his nails. "We're not here to fight, only to talk."  
  
Shingo frowned; he hadn't been expecting to meet the rebels _here_. "I came to visit a patient. Where is she?"  
  
"She passed away." The rebel sitting on the floor spoke up, a young woman in a battered leather jacket. More dotted triangles peeked out from the cutoff gloves she wore, covering the nails of one hand completely. "Her neighbors have taken care of her remains properly."  
  
"I see." Shingo bowed his head. She'd been quite old, much older than Madame. It wasn't unexpected, but it still hurt. "I sorry I wasn't able to help."  
  
"It's not our business," the first rebel said, a short, stocky man. "Our business is the message you were sent yesterday."  
  
"Five stars." The third was tall and willowy, undefinable even in voice. He--she-- _they_ folded their arms, showing triangles painted on every nail of both hands. It was sign of how loyal the rebel was, Shingo supposed, but it still made the hair rise on the back of his neck.  
  
"The children's story?"  
  
The first rebel waved his hand. "Nothing so trivial. The name refers to a project the Tower is conducting in secret. It involves, as far as we know, tracking down certain 'candidates' and eliminating them."  
  
Kimura shifted uneasily. "Just killing them? That's all?"  
  
"They might be people who pose too much threat to the Tower." The rebel folded his arms. "We can't see why they would limit themselves to five, though, nor why certain candidates would be such a priority."  
  
"What, is your leader jealous?" Kimura snorted. "If I knew what they were afraid of, I'd broadcast it across the channel so everyone could be doing it."  
  
The first rebel scowled, but the second waved her hand placatingly. "Your designation we can respect. The one we don't get is the doctor's."  
  
Shingo blinked. "Me?" Inagaki hadn't mentioned that. "I've never even made their criminal list."  
  
"It could just be by association," the first rebel mused. "But they usually don't go straight for the throat like that."  
  
"It would take something more dangerous," the third added softly, giving Shingo a decidedly meaningful look. "Perhaps a project even we wouldn't know about."  
  
Shingo folded his arms. "I'm well aware of how you guys feel about the underground. You'd think I was from the Tower for all the welcome I've received." Once word had spread that he'd come up from the underground, the rebels had watched him suspiciously for weeks, avoiding him and refusing any offers of help. He looked at each of them sharply. "If the underground has something they're planning, I wouldn't know. I'm just trying to help people survive."  
  
The second rebel smiled. "That may be the most threatening thing to them of all." She stood, dusting off her jacket. "Let's go. It's time to report back."  
  
The other two looked unsatisfied. "We should bring them with us. They might still be hiding something."  
  
Kimura edged closer to Shingo, muscles tensing--  
  
"Leave them," the girl commanded. "My team's already been ordered to watch them. If the Commander wants to bring them in, she will."  
  
  
"They are very... good," Inagaki said, looking rather overwhelmed at the situation he found himself in. Tsuyoshi was perched on the arm of the couch across from him, bits of sandwich that he'd been feeding the man balanced on his lap. "I can honestly say I have never tasted any of those flavors before."  
  
"Yeah, the peanut butter and mayo one was kind of a surprise," Tsuyoshi agreed, inspecting his leftovers for any more of the offending sandwich. "They all had mayo in them, come to think of it. Maybe he's got a secret mayo fetish."  
  
Nakai hadn't found the peanut-butter-mayo that bad, but then he didn't really have much for comparison. He'd also been distracted by the sight of Tsuyoshi hand-feeding Inagaki, wondering if he could get Tsuyoshi to do the same for _him_. He flushed, and quickly pushed the thought away again.  
  
"Instant ramen and mayo sandwiches," Tsuyoshi mused to himself. "For being a doctor, he doesn't pay much attention to food. I guess he doesn't really have time to, don't you think?" Nakai blinked as Tsuyoshi turned to him, depositing the sandwich leftovers back onto the plate.  
  
"Huh? No, I guess not." Shingo seemed to have been constantly _doing_ things from the moment Nakai had woken up on his couch. Nakai wished there was something he could do, other than take care of Tsuyoshi and not go outside. "He seems like he's trying to help _everyone_."  
  
"And that Kimura doesn't seem like he'd be much at cooking," Tsuyoshi added thoughtfully. He put his hand on his hip. "Right, then. Let's go see what we can do." He strode off toward the kitchen; Nakai quickly trotted after, Inagaki watching them in bemusement.  
  
"Aha! I _knew_ I saw some in here yesterday!" Tsuyoshi was holding up a package with a picture of some kind of brown stew on the front. "And there's a carrot and potatoes in the fridge, too. Perfect!"  
  
"What is?" Nakai peered at the package over Tsuyoshi's shoulder.  
  
"Just you wait," Tsuyoshi said, grinning at him. "We're going to make _curry_."  
  
  
"We should go back." Kimura glanced over at Shingo as they hurried through the rain. "They're trying to kill you."  
  
"They're trying to kill _you_ , too, but that didn't stop you before." Shingo plowed forward, puddles splashing under feet. "This is the last patient."  
  
The man was grateful to see Shingo, carrying his daughter on one hip even as he coughed into a handkerchief with his free hand. "She won't catch it, will she?"  
  
Shingo listened to their breathing with his stethoscope. Some improvement on the man's part, no problems with the girl. Nothing acute, then, thankfully. "She may develop a cough if she picks it up from you, but she's old enough to fight it. Just keep eating and get lots of sleep, and it should go away in a week or so."  
  
The man tried to pay him extra. Shingo refused it, telling him to spend it on the food he'd need to keep his daughter healthy.  
  
Kimura looked up at him as he stepped outside. The rain was dripping off the tips of his hair where they stuck out from under the hood. "Shoulda taken it."  
  
Shingo stalked past him. "We're going home."  
  
"Damn right." Kimura stood in a cascade of droplets. "And we're giving that spy to the rebels. They'll know what to do with him."  
  
"We are _not_." Shingo kept walking, not looking back. "They'll kill him whether he's telling the truth or not, and you know it."  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
Shingo stopped, taking a deep breath. It was how Kimura thought, it was how Kimura lived. He was _not_ going to let it piss him off right now, not when they were both still in danger. "Yes," he said, letting his breath out slowly. "It matters to me."

 

Damn. Tsuyoshi should have remembered he couldn't cut vegetables like this. He _might_ be able to manage potatoes one-handed, but carrots would be pretty much impossible.  
  
He also should have realized that Nakai wouldn't be able to do it, either. The older man took a breath and tried reaching for the handle again, but yanked his hand away before it could even brush the metal. "It's okay," Tsuyoshi said quickly, touching his shoulder. "I saw how you reacted to Kimura's switchblade. You don't have to do it."  
  
Nakai squeezed his eyes shut, running his hands over his face. "I feel useless," he muttered.  
  
"You saved my life, and now you're helping me recover from a broken arm." Tsuyoshi patted Nakai's shoulder. "Not being able to chop vegetables for me is pretty minor, all things considered." He glanced around the kitchen, trying to think of another solution. Maybe Nakai could use a fork, or they could weight the carrots down with something--  
  
He caught sight of Goro, leaning forward in his chair just enough to see past the kitchen doorway. "Is there anything I might be able to help with?"  
  
  
Nakai hovered behind Tsuyoshi, watching Inagaki. This had to be a bad idea.  
  
"Just one more," Tsuyoshi said, beaming at the dark-haired man as he dropped the chopped carrots into the water. "Then d'you mind cutting the potatoes into wedges?"  
  
Inagaki reached for the last carrot. He stood perfectly straight, aiming each cut with precision. "We-- I... don't mind. It is nice to be useful." Light glinted off the knife with each chop.  
  
Nakai had promised to help him-- it felt _right_ , like Inagaki belonged with them somehow-- but just looking at the man made him want to straighten his posture, as though he might be taking notes on Nakai's behavior. And there was something about the way he spoke...  
  
"We'll be able to make a whole _week's_ worth of curry," Tsuyoshi declared proudly, dumping the last carrot in. "Even Kimura won't be able to complain. Unless he doesn't like curry or something."  
  
"He seems to not like anything," Inagaki replied, slicing the potatoes apart. "If you will forgive the observation."  
  
Tsuyoshi shrugged, as best as he could. "He likes Shingo."  
  
"Does he?" Inagaki tilted his head. "He has deliberately disobeyed him quite a few times."  
  
Tsuyoshi laughed, reaching for a handful of potato wedges. "He's not Shingo's _servant_. Sometimes your heart tells you to do something different, even if you love that person."  
  
Inagaki looked at Tsuyoshi as though the words were completely incomprehensible. Nakai drew up his courage and stepped forward, scooping up potatoes with both hands and ferrying them towards the pot.  
  
In the living room, they heard the sound of the door opening.  
  
"Shit," Tsuyoshi said quietly, exchanging a glance with Nakai. Inagaki set the knife down, dropping his hands to his sides.  
  
The voices entering the living room stopped, and then Kimura tore into the kitchen, taking in the scene with one furious glance. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?!" He grabbed Tsuyoshi by the collar, turning him around and shoving him against the wall. "I told you to _keep him tied up_. Do you think this is some kind of fucking _game_?!"  
  
Nakai dropped the potatoes and hurled himself at Kimura's back. "Let go of him, it's not his fault--"  
  
Kimura threw himself backwards, slamming Nakai into the wall behind them. Nakai slid down to the floor, winded.  
  
"You even gave him a fucking _knife_!" Kimura snatched it up, pointing it at Inagaki. "Thought it would be funny when he _slit your fucking throats_ , did you?" He advanced on the dark-haired man, backing him into the counter until the knife was pressing into his throat. "I knew I shouldn't've trusted you--"  
  
"Kimura!" Shingo grabbed the older man from behind, hooking his arms under Kimura's shoulders and dragging him backwards. The knife clattered to the floor as Kimura struggled; he caught a foot on the edge of the counter and shoved backwards, sending them both tumbling through the kitchen doorway.  
  
Shingo scrambled up. "What the hell do you think _you're_ doing?" He edged back, warily, as Kimura stood. "You just attacked _my_ guests, who _I_ promised to keep safe--"  
  
"It's _not_ safe with that spy here," Kimura argued. "Either you let me kill him or you give him to the rebels."  
  
"I'm not doing _either_ ," Shingo snapped. "If you hadn't noticed, Kimura, I don't like handing people to their _death_."  
  
Kimura clenched his fists. "I'm trying to keep _you_ safe. Why does it fucking _matter_ so much?"  
  
"Because unlike you, I happen to _care_ whether people live or die!" Shingo stepped closer, glaring at Kimura. "If you can't respect that, then you can _get out_."  
  
Kimura stared at him, wide-eyed. Then he dropped his gaze, shoulders sinking, hands unclenching. Defeated. "You want me to leave?"  
  
Nakai watched from the kitchen floor, surrounded by potatoes, wondering why every part of him was saying _no, no, no_ \--  
  
"Kimura." Shingo scrubbed at his face, letting out a strange half-laugh. "No, of course I don't want you to leave. I just want you to-- to try to understand, okay?"  
  
Kimura lifted his eyes, meeting Shingo's cautiously. "I can try."  
  
Shingo smiled weakly at him, reaching a hand out to his shoulder--  
  
The moment was interrupted by the sound of the knife being picked up from the kitchen floor.  
  
"Sentimental idiots," Inagaki said tonelessly, all expression dropping from his face. "We might have had a use for you."  
  
  
Kimura snapped alive, the sound of metal ringing in his ears. He tackled Shingo to the floor, the knife stabbing into the air inches above his head, and rolled to meet Inagaki's downward slash with a wild kick. It connected, knocking the swing aside; he followed the momentum up from the floor and drove his shoulder into Inagaki's stomach, knocking him back and giving Kimura just enough opening to grab the spy's arm.  
  
He pinned it to the floor with his full weight, slamming down on Inagaki's wrist to force the blade from his fingers, not a moment too late as the spy hooked a leg over Kimura's chest and threw him back. An elbow pressed into on his neck, the disarmed hand smacking his head down to the concrete-- he grabbed both and kicked up, throwing Inagaki over him and staggering up from the floor.  
  
The knife-- there was no time, Inagaki was up and lunging at him again. Kimura swayed sideways and shoved the spy down with his own inertia, forcing him to the floor and twisting his arms behind him. Inagaki snarled, trying to lift himself up-- Kimura felt skin break under his nails and slammed his hips down hard, bodily thrusting him into the floor--  
  
The dark-haired man made a sudden choking noise and stopped struggling altogether. He breathed raggedly for a second, and then began to throw up.  
  
"Kimura!" Shingo hissed, eyes wide. "What did you _do_?"  
  
Kimura sat up, still gripping Inagaki's wrists tightly. He couldn't have done enough damage for that, it had to be another ploy.  
  
Inagaki coughed a final dry heave and turned his head limply. "Get off of me." His voice was suddenly small and thin.  
  
Kimura narrowed his eyes. "If you're trying to surrender, I'd rather kill you."  
  
Inagaki closed his eyes. "Just get off of me," he replied, half whispering, half-- what was it? Like something that had to be held carefully or it would break.  
  
Kimura glanced over to Shingo; the other man reached for the knife. He nodded.  
  
Nothing happened, not when Kimura loosened his grip, not when he and Shingo stood warily, ready to tackle the spy down again. Inagaki lay still for a long moment, as if waiting for something. Then, finally, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, heedless of the mess, and dragged himself away from Kimura and Shingo to curl against the wall.  
  
  
"Inagaki?"  
  
The man flinched. "Don't call me that."  
  
Shingo and Kimura glanced at each other, and Shingo shrugged. "Fine then, Goro--"  
  
"Don't call me that either!" Inagaki pressed his hands against his ears. "I don't want to be that. I don't want to _be_ \--"  
  
He cut off, looking wildly around and catching sight of the knife in Shingo's hand. He lunged for it, almost twisting it against his wrist before Shingo could shove him back. "The hell? You were trying to kill _us_ a moment ago."  
  
Kimura eyed the man warily. "Think it could still be a ploy?"  
  
Inagaki curled in on himself, fingers tearing at his hair. "I don't want to remember, I don't want to remember, I don't want to--" He coughed, and threw up again, a ragged dry heave.  
  
Shingo ran for his kit, throwing the knife aside on the table. "He's gonna hurt himself either way. I'm putting him out." He knelt next to Inagaki, preparing a syringe of anesthetic as the man continued to thrash. "Hold him down--"  
  
Kimura pinned Inagaki's wrists down. The man screamed, and only cut off when the sedative took effect.  
  
  
Nakai sat up shakily, watching Shingo and Kimura bind Inagaki's hands and feet. The dark-haired man was limp now, expression almost peaceful, as if oblivion was infinitely preferable to reality.  
  
"Nakai," Tsuyoshi murmured, peeling away from the wall and sinking down in front of him. Potatoes skidded across the tiles. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Yeah." Nakai took in Tsuyoshi's shell-shocked expression. "You?"  
  
Tsuyoshi nodded wordlessly, looking down. The silence stretched out for a moment, and then Nakai realized something was dripping off of Tsuyoshi's chin. "Tsuyoshi--"  
  
Tsuyoshi scrubbed at his eyes, smiling bitterly. "I almost got us all killed, didn't I? Just because I wanted some stupid vegetables chopped." He clenched his hand into a fist, pressing down hard on his thigh. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid_. Even _you_ told me not to, and I _still_ didn't listen."  
  
"Tsuyoshi." Nakai took Tsuyoshi's fist in his hand, trying to fumble about for words. "It's okay. Everyone's okay."  
  
Tsuyoshi shook his head. "He could've attacked you, and I wouldn't've been able to do anything about it."  
  
Nakai coaxed Tsuyoshi's fingers uncurled, interlocking them with his own. "You said-- you said sometimes your heart tells you to do something different." He looked down at their joined hands, a world away from the cold, lifeless one he'd left. "I could have gotten us both killed when I attacked that patrol. But I couldn't just stand there and watch."  
  
Tsuyoshi leaned forward, burying his face in Nakai's shoulder. His thin frame shuddered with small, quiet sobs, until he finally drew a long, shaky breath.  
  
"I can't even hug you properly," he said, hiccuping with laughter into Nakai's shirt. "To show you how it's done."  
  
Shingo appeared in the doorway, his hair sticking up wildly. "Tsuyoshi-- Nakai-- are you alright? I didn't think Kimura would-- I mean, I've never seen him that angry before--"  
  
"He was right, though," Nakai said, wincing as the sound of metal replayed in his ears. "We might've been dead if he hadn't."  
  
Tsuyoshi nodded, letting go of Nakai's hand to rub his eyes. "Shingo," he said, trying to stand. "I-- I--"  
  
Shingo helped him up. "I wanted to trust him, too. Like he was one of us." He ruffled Tsuyoshi's hair gently. "If it hadn't been you, it probably would've been me."  
  
"One of us," Tsuyoshi murmured, glancing at Nakai. "Like he wasn't who he was supposed to be. Or was that a lie, too?"  
  
"I don't know," Shingo said, glancing back thoughtfully at the man on the couch. "But I think we're gonna have a lot to ask him when he wakes up."

 

Inagaki woke twenty minutes later. He still appeared to be asleep, breathing slowly with his hands limp in his bonds, but Shingo wasn't a doctor for nothing.  
  
"I know you're awake," he told the man on the couch. "I only gave you enough for ten minutes. Stop pretending or I'll hold something gross under your nose."  
  
Inagaki cracked his eyes open, wincing at the light. His hands twitched in their bonds, then went limp again, and he stared up at the ceiling dully.  
  
Shingo sat on the edge of the coffee table, Kimura hovering protectively at his shoulder. "So, how are we feeling today? Homocidal, suicidal, or other?"  
  
The man blinked slowly. "I remember."  
  
Kimura shifted warily. "Remember what?"  
  
"Who I was." Inagaki swallowed painfully. "They made me forget. But I remember."  
  
Behind the coffee table, Tsuyoshi drew in a sharp breath.  
  
"I wasn't an orphan. I had a family, in the Inner District. The Tower recruited me, and I went willingly." A flash of something flickered across Inagaki's face. "And then they made me forget."  
  
"If this is another ploy--" Kimura started, but Shingo put a hand on his arm. "Why'd they make you forget?"  
  
"I don't know." Inagaki swallowed again, involuntarily. "I was thirteen."  
  
"And something Kimura did made you remember?" He flinched, and Shingo quickly waved his hand. Manipulative bastard though he might have been, Shingo didn't want to make the man lose it again. "You don't have to tell us if it's gonna make you puke. But now what, are you suddenly against the Tower now?"  
  
Inagaki's eyes went wide. "How can I? They control _everything_. They could-- they could be listening--" He jerked upright, shoving one of his bound hands into his mouth. Shingo and Kimura both lunged forward-- but before they could grab his wrists there was a muffled _crack_ and Inagaki wrenched a bloodied tooth from his mouth. "Smash it, smash it, it's a microphone--" He fumbled with it desperately, spitting out blood.  
  
Kimura snatched the tooth; there was a tiny electronic implant inside. He whipped out his switchblade and smashed the tooth on the coffee table with the handle.  
  
Shingo grabbed gauze from his kit, pressing a piece into Inagaki's fingers. "Put this on the wound," he ordered, holding the man's shoulder tightly. It was trembling with-- fear? panic? revulsion? That fragment of mirror again, glittering in his mind--  
  
Tsuyoshi slid alongside him, putting his hand on Inagaki's back. "It's okay, it's okay, we smashed it." He rubbed in circles soothingly. "We're safe here. They can't hear us."  
  
"It's no good--" Inagaki's voice rose hysterically, blood dripping from his lip. "They _made_ me this, they'll find me and they'll see that I'm _broken_."  
  
"They won't," Tsuyoshi insisted. "We'll protect you. We said we'd help you, and we will."  
  
Inagaki stared at the gauze in his hand wildly. "No, just kill me, I'm useless now and they'll just come after you too--"  
  
" _Shut up_." Kimura stood suddenly, glaring down at the man. Inagaki sat upright as if automatically, looking up at him wide-eyed.  
  
"You've done nothing but lie so far, and I'd rather kill you just to be safe," Kimura said, pocketing his knife and trading it for the data drive he'd taken the previous day. "But I made a promise. So this time, you're gonna tell us the truth."  
  
  
"Alright, that's the best I can do for now." Shingo dabbed the remaining blood away as the wound sealant took hold. The man was calm and compliant now, as if being given an order had brought his world back into balance. "You snapped part of the stem off with the crown, but it looks like the blood was just a scratch."  
  
He glanced behind him at the remains of the tooth, scattered on the coffee table. Nakai was staring at them as well; he shook his head and looked away quickly, edging closer to Tsuyoshi.  
  
Kimura stepped in, looking down at Inagaki. "You lied to us about this drive."  
  
Inagaki nodded. "The Five Stars data wasn'tt restricted. I didn't try to access it." He bent his head, exposing his neck.  
  
Kimura inserted the drive into the diamond, watching Inagaki warily. The man closed his eyes in concentration.  
  
" _Accessdata_." His eyes flickered under his eyelids. "Five Stars Project. Identify and neutralize candidates posing greatest threat. Candidates will be reviewed by the Leaders to recommend elimination or repurposification."  
  
Shingo glanced at Kimura. " _Repurposification_?"  
  
Inagaki continued. "Candidates one through fifty-three found negative. Neutralized. Candidate fifty-four. Kimura Takuya. Neutralization unsuccessful. Whereabouts unknown. Candidate fifty-five. Katori Shingo. Neutralization unsuccessful. Whereabouts unknown."  
  
Tsuyoshi started, turning to Shingo. "They're after you, too?"  
  
Shingo nodded. "The rebels told us that, too. We still don't know _why_ , though--"  
  
"Candidate fifty-six." Inagaki's voice shook. "Inagaki Goro. Neutralization successful. Candidate fifty-seven. Nakai Masahiro. Neutralization successful. Candidate fifty-eight. Kusanagi Tsuyoshi. Unconfirmed; recommend repurposification."  
  
They sat in stunned silence. _Inagaki_ was a candidate? But he'd already been working for the Tower-- and Nakai, too, unless-- unless the Tower had had its eyes on them long ago... _Running with his brother in the middle of the night, his mother's tearful face as she pushed them ahead--_  
  
"Kimura," Shingo said urgently. "When did you become an orphan?"  
  
"Five or six, far as I know." Kimura seemed to follow Shingo's thought. "They were already working on the project then?"  
  
"Much longer, if they'd already been through fifty-three candidates." Fifty-three innocent people. Shingo gritted his teeth. "Just what do they mean by _repurposification_?"  
  
"Me," Inagaki said, looking down at his bound hands. "They couldn't use me the way I was, so they... adjusted me." Nakai shifted uneasily, glancing at the bits of shattered tooth again.  
  
"But why would a five-year-old be a threat to the Tower? Or even a thirteen-year-old?" Tsuyoshi frowned, plucking at his bandages. "I've never even thought of _fighting_ them. I just want to help people be a little happier, that's all."  
  
_That may be the most threatening thing to them of all_. The rebel's words echoed in Shingo's mind. It still didn't make sense; why not the rebels, or even the underground? Why the five of them, who circumstances had thrown together-- or had it been luck at all? _This isn't who I'm supposed to be..._  
  
Shingo stood suddenly, thoughts awhirl. Madame would know. Madame could help him. They were all in danger now, and he had to protect them, he needed to, before it was too late. "We're going to the underground."

 

Kimura dug through the pantry, pulling out anything small enough to carry in their pockets. Inagaki hovered in the doorway, rubbing his unbound wrists and looking lost.  
  
"What?" Ramen, dehydrated mayonnaise, instant coffee... aha, nutrition bars. "If you attack me again I _will_ kill you."  
  
"I won't." Inagaki took an uncertain step forward. "But I can't go with. The Tower might-- might be able to control me."  
  
"You'd rather stay and kill yourself?" _More_ mayonnaise... what did Shingo _do_ with all of this stuff? "Or are you hoping they'll take you back with open arms, and brainwash all your bad memories away again?"  
  
Inagaki didn't respond. Kimura glanced up sharply; he was staring distantly at the package of curry roux, still abandoned amidst the uncooked potato wedges. "I don't know."  
  
Kimura stood. "They did something to you that makes you want to die." He had a vague guess, judging by _what_ the man had reacted to. The Tower did terrible things... but that was none of his business. "You'd rather let them do that to you again?"  
  
Inagaki blanched, stepping back. " _No_. But I-- I--"  
  
"Then fight. You'll only be free if you fight them," Kimura replied, stuffing bars into his pockets. "If that's what you want to be."  
  
Inagaki looked at him as if the words were coming through a thick fog. Something in Kimura wanted to reach across to touch Inagaki's shoulder, the way Shingo would, as if someone like him could offer comfort to someone who probably didn't know what it was. He ignored it, turning to clean up the mess of sliced vegetables on the counter.  
  
"I thought someone like me wasn't capable of changing," Inagaki murmured, following the motions of Kimura's hands.  
  
Kimura hesitated, knuckles brushing the box of curry roux. _Was_ he? Tsuyoshi had believed he was-- but Tsuyoshi was naive, a drifter with no sense of self-preservation...  
  
He looked up, but Inagaki had already left the kitchen. Whatever. It was no business of his. Right?  
  
  
Tsuyoshi took one last look at the painted bedroom; it was a shame to leave it behind, all this color and life in the midst of a cold grey world. It had been nice to sleep here, waking up warm and comfortable in a sunny paradise, even if it wasn't the real sun. At least he'd still have Nakai.  
  
There had been one thing missing from the mural, though: Tsuyoshi found a patch of empty grass, and pressed his fingernail into the paint, imprinting the outline of a tiny flower.  
  
"There," he told it. "You'll have plenty of sunlight, now."  
  
He hurried back up the stairs; Shingo and Kimura were poring over a map on Shingo's vidscreen tablet, discussing something in low voices while Goro stowed away all the various gadgets that had been confiscated from him.  
  
Nakai was in the bathroom, examining his teeth in the mirror. He quickly closed his mouth, stepping back.  
  
"Worried?" Tsuyoshi joined him in front of the mirror, peering at his own teeth. "I 'on't 'ee any'hing in 'ine."  
  
Nakai's mouth twitched-- about as close to a laugh as he was going to get, Tsuyoshi supposed-- and he leaned in to look at his teeth again. "They said I'd been successfully neutralized."  
  
"I don't see anything in yours, either." Tsuyoshi smiled at him in the mirror. "I don't think they'd call you 'neutralized' if they could see you now, anyway." He turned his head quickly and planted a tiny kiss on Nakai's cheek.  
  
Nakai blushed, startled. He glanced sideways, eyes flicking down to Tsuyoshi's mouth--  
  
"What're you two doing?" Shingo peeked in the doorway, goggles dangling around his neck. He looked faintly amused.  
  
"Just making sure we're not spies," Tsuyoshi answered cheerfully. "Is it time to go?"  
  
"Almost. Kimura wants to wait 'til nightfall, but with five of us--" Shingo froze, looking down at his watch. "Shit."  
  
  
"Now what?" They crouched on the stairs to the entrance, peering up into the darkness. The figures on Shingo's monitor had been unmistakeable, not bothering to hide their dark uniforms under street clothes. The Tower was here.  
  
They'd found him, they were going to-- Nakai shook his head, squeezing Tsuyoshi's hand. He wasn't alone.  
  
"They must have traced the other drive back here." Shingo exchanged a glance with Kimura. "We'll have to make a break for it."  
  
Kimura nodded, his switchblade folded in his hand. "I take the lead."  
  
"Both of us," Shingo countered. "Better odds."  
  
Kimura didn't look happy about it, but he didn't argue. "The rest of you stick close behind." His gaze flicked over to Inagaki. "If you're planning to come with, that is."  
  
Inagaki didn't say anything. Shingo stood. "Let's go. Before they decide to bring patrols in."  
  
The door opened at Shingo's command; Nakai caught a glimpse of a man dressed in dark clothes before Kimura launched himself through feet-first, slamming the man bodily to the ground. Shingo followed swiftly, grabbing a second man waiting to the side of the door. He punched the spy, breaking the man's nose, and let him topple to the ground. "Kimura!"  
  
Another spy had been waiting on the other side. She lunged at Kimura, knife out-- Kimura rolled, scrambling under the woman's arm and catching her in a headlock from behind. The knife clattered to the ground as she passed out; Kimura snatched it up and shoved it into Nakai's hand. "Use this."  
  
There was another shout from Shingo and three more Tower agents came running around the corner. One threw himself at Shingo, sending them both tumbling to the ground; Kimura held his switchblade ready as the other two approached.  
  
Nakai heard Inagaki draw a sharp breath. "The taller one-- she's from my section. An elite."  
  
"Great." Kimura glanced back at the wall behind him. "A happy family reunion." He launched himself off the wall, aiming for the elite. Her companion took the brunt of the attack, brandishing a blade of his own; the eilte slipped aside as they faced off, turning her attention to the three hiding in the doorway.  
  
"Inagaki," she said, her voice flat. "You are ordered to return at once." She drew closer, ignoring the knife trembling uselessly in Nakai's hand. "Your disobedience may be overlooked upon satisfactory explanation. We will deal with the criminals."  
  
Inagaki stared at her, his expression guarded. "The Tower hurt me."  
  
"The Tower would do no such thing." The elite narrowed her eyes. "These criminals have twisted your thoughts. Return to us at once."  
  
"Don't listen to her!" Kimura yelled, metal blocking metal. "They'll just hurt you again!"  
  
Inagaki hesitated. The elite took another step closer, another. "The Tower does not waste," she said, reaching out. "We will see you put back to proper use."  
  
Inagaki lifted a hand slowly, expression unreadable--  
  
Kimura wrestled the man's blade to one side, kneeing him in the stomach and throwing him to the ground. " _Goro_!"  
  
Goro's eyes widened, and he smacked the elite's hand away. She scowled, and before Nakai could blink there was a blade in her hand and she was aiming for Goro's chest--  
  
The knife went into her gut. Nakai stared at it, at the red starting to seep around the blade and the blade connecting to the handle and his fingers still clutching it tightly. He snatched his hand away; the woman made a gasping noise and sank to her knees, gritting her teeth as though fighting shock. "Traitors--" she spat, and finally fell unconscious.  
  
Nakai shrank back into Tsuyoshi, staring at his hand in horror. It had been his hand holding the knife, _his hand pressing the knife to his_ \--  
  
Shingo had pinned his attacker down, wrestling him into a headlock. "Kimura! We gotta get moving before they--" The man thrashed under him, one hand flailing back in a flash of metal as he lost consciousness. Shingo dropped the man, grabbing at his own throat, and fell backwards.  
  
  
"Shingo!" Kimura tore across the pavement as the younger man fell, blood welling out from under his fingers. The older man dropped to his knees, Nakai and Tsuyoshi racing after him with the medical kit. "Shingo! What do I do? What do I do?"  
  
Goro watched numbly. He'd betrayed the Tower. Someone was dying. Shingo was dying.  
  
Shingo opened his mouth, but nothing more than a choking noise came out. His hands weakened and slipped from his neck. He'd defied the Tower. They'd helped him. Shingo was dying.  
  
"Shit!" Kimura pressed his hands desperately against the flow of blood. Nakai yanked bandages out of the kit, but that was the jugular vein, even if they could slow the bleeding the vein would need to be repaired quickly--  
  
Kimura looked back at Goro wildly. "Don't stand there like you need to be told what to _think_! _Help_ me!"  
  
Goro snapped, yanking the medical welder from its strap under his sleeve. He skidded to his knees down next to Shingo, kicking into high concentration as he focused on the wound. "Pinch the upper vein so the blood stops coming out." It wasn't cut through. This might work. He squeezed the greenish liquid out from one end of the pen along the edges of the cut vein and pressed them together; then he reversed the pen and carefully traced the infrared laser over the cut.  
  
When he drew the pen away, the vein had sealed itself back together with only a faint seam to tell where the cut had been. Goro quickly pulled Kimura's hand away, watching as the vein thickened with blood again. "It might not hold-- bandages--"  
  
Tsuyoshi knelt alongside Goro, helping Nakai wrap the bandages around Shingo's neck. "Is he okay? Is he still breathing?"  
  
Kimura held his ear over Shingo's mouth, listening. It seemed like minutes, hours, an eternity before his expression finally broke into relief. He nodded, his hand just barely rising and falling on Shingo's chest. Shingo was breathing. Shingo was alive.  
  
Goro swayed backwards and sat heavily on the pavement, letting out a long breath.  
  
He'd fought the Tower. Shingo was alive.  
  
For the moment, anyway. "He-- he needs a doctor." The concentration high was wearing off, leaving him light-headed. "He could still go into hypovo-- into shock."  
  
Kimura stood, apparently determined to go find one, when there were more shouts from around the corner. Before any of them could react, a woman in a battered leather jacket came dashing into the alley-- a rebel, Goro realized, with some trepidation-- and took in the scene with a glance.  
  
"Come with us," she commanded, the sound of engines rumbling behind her. "We're taking you in."


	2. Chapter 2

He was dying. His hands were too heavy, they dropped limply to his side, he knew a thousand ways to save a life but he couldn't even save his own. He'd wanted to protect them this time, he was sure it was his fault they'd failed, he'd only been thinking of himself and _her_ and the way _he_ looked at her when he should have been looking after all of them--  
  
This time? Who was he talking about?  
  
His mother smiled at him. One. His brother took his hand, dragging him into the cavern to paint. Two. His mentor, washing his hands after a long operation. Three. The first patient he'd treated above, desperately clinging to his shirt in a side alley. Four--  
  
"Shingo." Faint, far away. Like his ears were stuffed with cotton.  
  
That fragment of mirror again, glittering half-buried underwater. He could almost reach out for it now, so familiar and right, as though if he picked it up and looked into it he'd see who it was he was supposed to be.  
  
"Shingo--" The voice was closer now, muffled but urgent.  
  
"He's going to be fine. Let him rest."  
  
Shingo felt pressure-- in his hand, he still had a hand, and there was another hand wrapped around it, holding it tightly. He discovered he still had eyes, too, and tried to crack them open.  
  
Kimura, blurry around the edges, leaning over him. The room was unfamiliar.  
  
"Wh--" His mouth could barely even shape the beginning of the word.  
  
"Goro saved you." Kimura glanced over at someone Shingo couldn't see. "The rebels've taken us in, for now."  
  
Oh. Shingo let his eyes sink shut again. Out of one fire and into another. Well, at least he was alive.  
  
  
Tsuyoshi stood in front of Nakai and Goro, his arm flung out angrily. "Don't touch them!"  
  
The rebels bristled. "They're from the Tower!"  
  
"They're on our side!" Tsuyoshi insisted. He backed against his friends as the one of the rebels stepped forward. "Don't you _dare_ hurt them!"  
  
'Tower scum don't change sides," the rebel snarled, hatred flashing in his eyes. "They just _pretend_ so they can slit your throats."  
  
"They're _different_ \--" Tsuyoshi struggled as the rebel grabbed his collar.  "Don't you _dare_ \--"  
  
Both Nakai and Goro tensed-- no, that would just make it worse--  
  
"What's going on here?" A woman strode into the room, carrying a motorcycle helmet under one arm. "I was told Katori and Kimura had been brought in. Who are these three?"  
  
The rebel quickly let go of Tsuyoshi. "They were with them during the attack. Kimura insisted they come with."  
  
"Shingo rescued us," Tsuyoshi interjected. "They were gonna help us get to safety--"  
  
"Don't talk to the commander like that!" The rebel made as if to grab him again, but the woman motioned sharply.  
  
"It'll be faster just to ask." She circled around to face them, handing her helmet to the rebel. "Katori rescued you, you said. All of you?" She looked Goro up and down, her face hard.  
  
"He was from the Tower at first," Tsuyoshi said quickly. "But then he remembered what they did to him and--"  
  
The woman narrowed her eyes. "And what, had a _change of heart_? I've fought far too many Tower spies to be fooled by that shit."  
  
"He saved Shingo's life!" Tsuyoshi fumbled desperately for words. They'd just laugh if he told them he trusted Goro because he was _familiar_.  
  
"He disobeyed a direct order from them," Nakai said, quietly. "No one loyal could do that."  
  
The commander turned her attention on Nakai. "And have _you_?" Nakai didn't respond. "The Tower does strange things to get what it wants," she continued, regarding all three of them with suspicion. "Lock them up until I've talked to Katori."  
  
The rebels shifted, hungrily. "No!" Tsuyoshi flung his arm wide again. "We're-- we're the Five Stars!"  
  
  
The door to the infirmary slammed open. "Where is he? I need to talk to him _now_."  
  
Kimura snapped his head up from the doze he'd fallen into. A woman, dressed in an old motorcycle jacket with a triangle of three dots on the chest-- He leaped up, ready to vault over Shingo's bed if necessary.  
  
"Mori."  
  
Mori, commander of the rebel resistance, nodded at him curtly. "Kimura." She stopped a few feet away, eyes flicking over Kimura's coiled stance. "What happened to Katori?"  
  
Behind her, several rebels dragged Tsuyoshi, Nakai, and Goro in. "Nearly killed by a Tower spy," Kimura answered shortly. "And saved by a former one. Let them go."  
  
"They say they're the Five Stars." Mori crossed her arms. "What are they talking about?"  
  
Kimura saw Tsuyoshi bite his lip. Of course. " _You_ warned us about the Five Stars Project. Those three are also candidates."  
  
Mori narrowed her eyes. "A threat to the Tower? Two spies and an injured street drifter?"  
  
"I believe the source." He carefully didn't look at Goro. To his credit, Goro didn't twitch either. "We need to hide 'til we find out _why_ the Tower thinks we're so dangerous."  
  
Between them, Shingo shifted uneasily in his sleep. Kimura glanced down-- bandages fine, breathing normal, heartrate a little high but normal--  
  
"I'm not keeping traitors around." Mori half-turned, taking them all in. "One of you must swear loyalty."  
  
Kimura looked across at the other three. Shingo couldn't do it-- even if he was conscious, would they even let him?-- and Kimura didn't hold allegiance to anyone, no one except--  
  
"Not the supposed ex-spies," Mori added, looking back at Kimura. "And I know loyalty doesn't mean anything to _you_."  
  
Tsuyoshi stepped forward. "I'll do it."  
  
There was a commotion of voices as the rebels protested-- _his arm-- weak-- untrustworthy_ \-- and Mori took a step towards him. "You'll be responsible for these four. If one of them betrays us, I will kill both of you. Are you fine with that?"  
  
Tsuyoshi swallowed visibly, but lifted his chin. "Yes. If that's what it takes for you to trust people."  
  
Mori's mouth twisted slightly, but she unzipped a pocket and drew out a tiny bottle, unscrewing the cap. "Your hand." Tsuyoshi held it out, watching as she painted three tiny dots on the nail of his smallest finger. "You now swear loyalty to Mori, the commander of the rebel resistance. You will do as I say, and in return I will give you sanctuary."  
  
Tsuyoshi nodded stiffly, eyes still fixed on the triangle of dots. Mori looked him over with faint disdain. "You won't be much use for a while, if at all. Medic, tend this man's arm, and tell me when Katori wakes up. I'll be back for questioning." She brushed past Tsuyoshi, flicking one last glance of suspicion at Goro and Nakai, before leading her rebels from the room.  
  
  
Nakai decided that, even if the rebels were trying to fight the Tower, he didn't really like them much.  
  
Tsuyoshi let out a long breath, shoulders falling. "I guess we're safe now. Is Shingo okay?"  
  
The medic crossed the room, carrying Shingo's kit. "He's perfectly fine, just building up all that blood he lost." She motioned for Tsuyoshi to sit on the next bed over, pulling out the glasses Shingo had always used to examine him. "I assume he's the one who fixed this arm?"  
  
Nakai scooted onto the bed next to him, watching the medic carefully. Tsuyoshi might be responsible for them now, but someone still had to look out for _him_. He glanced down at his hand-- Goro had assured him the elite wasn't dead, but-- no, no time to think about that now.  
  
Tsuyoshi nodded, giving Nakai a tiny smile. "Just a couple days ago. He said it would take about six weeks to heal, though, so I guess she's right about how useful I'll be."  
  
The medic tapped the glasses frame. "I've been searching for a pair of these," she murmured happily. "Even added some of his own filters. Brilliant!" She focused on them again. "We'll see about that," she told Tsuyoshi, unfastening his arm deftly from its sling. "You may have had a decent surgeon, but we've got a few tricks up our sleeve as well."  
  
Goro stepped towards Shingo hesitantly. "He's alive." He looked up at Kimura, seemingly at a loss for words.  
  
"You saved him." Kimura regarded him for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, then gave a quick, approving nod. "Thank you."  
  
Goro seemed startled by the words, as if he knew what they were supposed to mean but had never heard them actually mean it before. Usually, Nakai recalled, they meant you were dismissed.  
  
"You're... welcome," he said, slow and uncertain. A flash of pain twisted across his face and he dropped it into his hand, breathing in and holding it. Kimura leaned forward, alarmed-- but then Goro lifted his head again, his expression calm, nearly blank. "I'm free now," he murmured softly, as though trying to remind himself.  
  
Kimura watched him wordlessly, looking-- uneasy? concerned? It was hard to tell with him, too. Shingo would probably know, Nakai thought. Shingo would know a lot of things, like what to do now that they were prisoners at the mercy of a ruthless band of rebels. But until he woke up, they were going to have to figure out how to look after each other.

 

The rebel hideout was a sprawling maze of interconnected rooms, winding and windowless, seemingly built entirely of broken boards and scrap metal precariously hammered into spaces for planning, training, and communal sleeping. Somewhere below ground, Tsuyoshi could hear the sound of motorcycles-- no doubt Mori was already planning her next attack on the Tower.  
  
The five of them were given a room near the infirmary, on the second floor overlooking the meeting area where they'd initially been brought in. It was cramped and dark, and Tsuyoshi instantly missed the muraled room and its multicolor bed of pillows, but he'd slept in worse places in his life. This was warm, dry, and most of all, safe.  
  
For now, anyway. He glanced down at the triangle on his nail again. Had he done the right thing? There hadn't really been a choice, had there?  
  
He paced out of the room again, nervously. Three weeks, with the medicine the medic gave him, but he was still helpless until then. There had to be something he could do.  
  
Kimura was leaning on the balcony, looking down at the rebels milling past. Some of them glanced up and stared, whispering among each other. _On our side? No, he only fights for himself. But they say he could win in a fight against Mori herself-_ -  
  
"Stupid," Kimura snorted suddenly. "I don't fight _duels_."  
  
Tsuyoshi joined him at the railing, glancing down at the scene. "You're strong. They want you on their side."  
  
Kimura gripped the rail. "I'm on _no one's_ side," he muttered, but it was subdued, as though his mind was back in the infirmary. Which he'd probably try to stay in all night, if the medic let him.  
  
"If you say so. I'm supposed to be in charge of you now, though, so you can't run off on your own." Tsuyoshi tried to say it lightly, but the thought just brought back his nerves. "Or whatever else Mori considers betrayal," he added, trying not let his voice shake.  
  
Kimura glanced sideways sharply. "She won't kill you."  
  
"Won't she?" Tsuyoshi laughed softly. "It reminds me of the Tower. If you're not useful, you're dead." He needed to be useful, he needed to be _strong_ , so he wouldn't hold everyone back. Not this time...  
  
"Tsuyoshi--"  
  
"Kimura." Tsuyoshi turned abruptly, looking up at him with sudden determination. "Will you teach me how to be strong?"  
  
  
Kimura eyed his trainees, running his tongue over his lower lip. He'd grabbed Nakai as well-- the man wasn't going to be much help in a fight if he could only just barely bring himself to use a knife-- and a handful of rebels were watching from the adjoining hallway, no doubt hoping to learn some kind of secret art of battle.  
  
Kimura's style of fighting was this: use anything and everything until they're either running away, unconscious, or dead. You didn't fight to win; you fought to _survive_.  
  
"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "We'll start with how to block."  
  
Tsuyoshi and Nakai picked up the idea fast enough-- knock the blow to the outside, creating an opening-- though it was quickly apparent they would be useless trying to practice against each other. After Nakai's third half-hearted attempt to do anything resembling a blow, Kimura called a couple of the rebels over to help.  
  
"Just don't _actually_ hit each other. Not yet, anyway." He watched as Tsuyoshi's initial flinch accompanying each block gradually gained confidence. Nakai seemed to have better skill at reading the opponent's next movement, but for some reason he was still slow to actually raise his hands in self-defense.  
  
"What next?" Tsuyoshi had used the opening to grab the inside of his opponent's arm, looking over the rebel's shoulder eagerly.  
  
"Next--" _You throw yourself forward and headbutt their chin hard enough to break their neck. Or you get a foot braced against them and dislocate their shoulder. Or you duck under their arm and pull it over your shoulder and throw them to the ground, followed by_ \-- "Just stick to blocking for now."  
  
"Just blocking won't stop a real attack." They glanced up; Goro was watching from the balcony.  
  
Kimura ran a hand irritably through his hair. "I don't wanna _hurt_ them."  
  
Goro tilted his head. "So use someone who won't get hurt."  
  
Things were much faster, after that; Goro knew exactly how to dodge or roll with whatever Kimura threw at him, and even if Kimura accidentally landed a blow or threw him a little too hard, he simply got up again with barely a flinch. He almost seemed to enjoy it, actually.  
  
Nakai picked himself up from the floor, rubbing his wrist. He did _not_ seem to be enjoying it much.  
  
"You gotta _move_ faster," Kimura said, irritation rising. "You're trying to defend yourself, not waiting for an invitation."  
  
"Raise your arm sooner," Tsuyoshi chimed in helpfully. He was sitting to the side, forbidden by the medic from practicing throws yet but studying them all avidly.  
  
Nakai nodded, watching the rebel across from him. He could read the movements in his opponent's muscles, Kimura noted, but for some reason--  
  
And Nakai was on the floor again, the rebel's knee pinning him down by his chest.  
  
" _Move_ , dammit!" Kimura stormed over, pulling the rebel off and yanking Nakai up. "You had perfectly good reflexes all those times you attacked _me_ \--" He stopped, recalling the circumstances of those attacks, and then grabbed the rebel and whispered in his ear. "Right. One more time."  
  
Mystified, Nakai squared off against the rebel once more. He read the rebel's movements, bracing himself-- and then the rebel lunged towards _Tsuyoshi_ , raising his fist high.  
  
Nakai threw himself forward, grabbing the rebel around the chest and hooking his leg behind his knee; they fell sideways and Nakai straddled him, pinning his upraised arm with one hand and grabbing a handful of his collar with the other-- He blinked, and looked up, releasing the startled rebel.  
  
"Great," Kimura said dryly. "Now if you could just do that when _you're_ the one being attacked." He sighed, and rolled his shoulders tiredly. "We'll do this again tomorrow."  
  
The rebels shuffled off; the one Nakai had been fighting paused to give him an encouraging thump, and dashed off after his friends.  
  
"You okay?" Kimura glanced sideways at Goro as Nakai automatically drifted over to Tsuyoshi. "I was pretty rough."  
  
"I can handle it."  
  
"Doesn't mean you _should_." Kimura turned more fully. The man looked as if he was waiting for more, if anything. "Hell, I barely know what I'm trying to teach. If I showed them what I _really_ do, you'd be dead now."  
  
Goro met his eyes. "That's fine with me."  
  
_What_ \-- Tsuyoshi and Nakai both went quiet. "Goro."  
  
The man looked away again. "Do you want me to stop?"  
  
Kimura studied him, trying see past the blank expression. "I'm not going to kill you."  
  
"I know that."  
  
"Do you want me to?"  
  
Goro's eyes widened, just for a moment. "I-- don't know what I want."  
  
"Goro." Kimura took a step closer. "You saved Shingo. You chose to come with us. You _fought_ the Tower."  
  
"I--" Goro dropped his head, pain flashing across his face. Again. What was it?  
  
Tsuyoshi stood, his hand in Nakai's. "Goro--"  
  
"Don't call me that!" Goro clutched his head, and dashed off toward the stairs.  
  
Kimura looked back at the other two. The _fuck_?  
  
  
Goro lay on his bedroll, staring up at the ceiling.  
  
Tsuyoshi untying his hands. Tsuyoshi's expression as Goro picked the knife up from the kitchen floor. Shingo untying his hands. Shingo gasping for air while Goro stood watching.  
  
Nakai watching him, fearfully. Kimura watching him, suspiciously. They'd both been right. He'd tried to twist them, just as the Tower had twisted him.  
  
He'd... trusted the Tower. They'd taught him everything, trained him to fight and cared for his needs and told him he had a purpose. He _was_ the Tower; there was no separation. He had always been and always would be. Without the Tower, he did not exist.  
  
But he'd had a family. _Their smiling faces, forbidden laughter_ \-- He'd been someone else before. _It was all he could see, all he could hear_ \-- They'd made him forget, made him _want_ to forget-- _And then he was held down and_ \--  
  
He held his breath, stomach lurching. It wasn't him, it wasn't him, think about something else.  
  
Kimura, leaning over Shingo with desperation in his eyes. Kimura, glancing down to make sure Shingo was okay even in the midst of a tense confrontation. Kimura, acknowledging him with words only his family had ever truly meant.  
  
No, he didn't have a family, he didn't want to be _him_ \-- but he had a family, he didn't want to forget and be what the Tower had _made_ him-- but then there wasn't anyone left to _be_ \--  
  
He closed his eyes. _Overridemode.sleep._

Shingo woke the following morning, his throat feeling like gravel in the desert. He'd barely managed a smile at Kimura before Mori stalked in, quickly pursued by the medic.  
  
"At least give it one more day, the man's still dizzy with dehydration and can barely even keep his eyes open--"  
  
"All the better timing to ask _now_ ," Mori snapped, positioning herself at the foot of the bed. "First question: are the three men who accompanied you indeed Five Stars candidates, as claimed?"  
  
Kimura stood, about to protest, but Shingo lifted his arm weakly. "Yes," he rasped. "The five of us are candidates."  
  
"Second question. How do you know this?"  
  
Shingo pressed his lips together. How much did they know about how the spies worked? "Our ex-spy told us."  
  
Mori raised an eyebrow. "And you believed him? I've interrogated Tower spies before. They don't break, they just die."  
  
Shingo looked away; he was surprised to see that the medic appeared just as disgusted as he felt. Maybe it was kill or be killed, but struggling to keep people alive on a daily basis did that. "The circumstances were pretty compelling."  
  
"I'm not compelled. He and the suit will be kept under surveillance." Mori crossed her arms, lifting her chin. "Third question. Where were you taking them?"  
  
Shingo met her eyes. This was the real interrogation, he realized; Mori already had her mind made up about Tower spies. "You know the answer to that."  
  
"Fine. _Why_ were you taking them there?"  
  
"Because--" Because he'd been tired and overwhelmed and needed someone who could help him. Because he'd wanted to protect them-- he'd _had_ to protect them, as though he'd caught a glimpse of something in that fragment of mirror-- and it was the safest place he could think of. "Because I can't trust someone who won't trust me."  
  
Mori smacked her hands down on the end of the bed, glaring at him. "And why should I trust _you_? You're one of _hers_ , hiding away and making plans in secret, letting us do all the work while you _manipulate_ things to your own liking." She rounded the bed, advancing on Shingo. "What's she _hiding_? What does she know that she can't even share with _me_ \--"  
  
Kimura tensed, but it was the medic who grabbed Mori's arm, triangle-dotted fingernails flashing. "Commander."  
  
Mori scowled at the medic. "Let go."  
  
"You can do as you like outside of here. But you entrusted this infirmary to me, and this man is in my care." The medic gave her leader a stern, almost motherly look. "And if I let you do whatever you liked in here, you'd be long dead by now."  
  
Mori glanced down at the numerous triangles, and relented stiffly. "Fine. See to it this man recovers fully and move him out as soon as possible. We'll need the bedspace soon."  
  
The medic released her arm, grimacing. "Not _another_ attack."  
  
"It's the only way," Mori said, turning to leave. She shot a glance back at Shingo. "No one's giving us any _better_ ideas."  
  
  
"--and you shoulda seen the way he reacted, it was like _lightning_ \--"  
  
Tsuyoshi beamed, listening to the conversation over his bowl of mush. The rebel Nakai had been practicing with had invited them to eat in the mess hall, and he and his friends seemed to have taken a liking to Nakai, asking him curiously about working as a suit. It had been horribly repressive and repetitive, by the sound of it-- protein bar rations, the same outfit every day, apartments and offices all monitored by cameras-- but they soaked it up in fascination as if he'd come from another world completely.  
  
"He can't be all bad, then," a girl with a nose ring said, through a spoonful of mush. "Maybe some of them aren't that brainwashed."  
  
"He's one of the _Five Stars_ , after all," the first rebel agreed, gesturing with his spoon. "Even _they_ think he's dangerous."  
  
"He is dangerous, indeed." A tall, willowy figure stood behind them, arms crossed. He-- she? Everything about them seemed to be both-- fixed Nakai with a look of open hostility. "It would be wise not to let his words into your mind. Do not bring him here, nor encourage him to roam our halls."  
  
The first rebel scowled. "They swore allegiance, Lieutenant. They're not _spies_."  
  
"Fealty," the lieutenant said, tapping long, triangle-dotted fingernails, "is not proven so easily. Do not be late to the meeting tomorrow."  
  
The rebel hunched down as the lieutenant left, stabbing his mush resentfully. "Just because they're Mori's second-in-command, they act all _high-and-mighty_ over everyone." He gave Tsuyoshi and Nakai a quick smile. "Don't worry, they're like that with everyone. You're coming to the meeting, right?"  
  
"Meeting?" Tsuyoshi glanced at the triangle on his pinky. "Am I supposed to?"  
  
"'Course you are. You're a rebel now." The girl waved her own dotted pinky. "I hear they're planning something big."  
  
"Too bad we can't have another training session instead," a woman grumbled. "I've been dying for a hot training teacher for _years_."  
  
The rebels laughed, clearing their dishes; as they parted ways, a younger man circled her waist with his arm, leaning up to murmur in her ear: "Aren't _I_ hot enough for you?"  
  
She gave him a warm look, settling her arm over his shoulders and whispering something in return before hurrying off alone with him. Tsuyoshi glanced over to catch Nakai watching them curiously. "Where are they going?"  
  
"Probably to go make out," Tsuyoshi surmised, waving to the rest of the rebels as they headed back towards their room. "Among other things."  
  
"Make out." Nakai said, testing the words on his tongue before frowning quizzically.  
  
"Kiss," Tsuyoshi supplied. He grinned as Nakai turned bright red. "Did you ever kiss anyone? Like, before you became a suit?"  
  
"It-- it wasn't--" Nakai stopped, his blush fading. "They punished you for it."  
  
Tsuyoshi looked at him in horror. "Nakai--" He grabbed Nakai's hand, holding it tightly. It was true, the Tower did everything it could to crush the life out of you, to suck you dry until you had no heart left at all. No wonder Nakai reached out in his sleep, when the shadow of his former life couldn't hold him back. "No one will punish you now. No one will hurt you. I won't let them."  
  
Nakai almost seemed even more distressed. "I-- can't, they'll _know_ \--" He tried to tug his hand away. "They're right, I _am_ dangerous, I don't know what they could make me do."  
  
"No." Tsuyoshi clung tightly, stepping forward with him. "They can't make you do anything. You're _free_ now."  
  
Nakai looked at him, long, lingering-- Tsuyoshi could feel his pulse racing, through his fingers-- and then dropped his head. "I can't."  
  
Tsuyoshi squeezed his hand, wishing he could take both. It was love, _love_ that the Tower hated most, that was what Tsuyoshi needed to teach him somehow. He had to become stronger for Nakai-- for all of them, not just to fight the Tower but so that they could save each other...  
  
  
"You're awake again."  
  
Shingo blinked, just barely making Kimura out in the darkness. "Don't tell me you haven't left my bedside at all. Who's looking after the others?"  
  
"I'm training them." Kimura stood, reaching out to touch Shingo's forehead. "Goro is helping, if you could call it that."  
  
"Training?" Shingo raised his eyebrows. "They're gonna be bouncing themselves off walls by the time I get out of here, huh?"  
  
Kimura rubbed his eyes wearily. "One of them only has one arm and the other will only attack if you go after his _boyfriend_. Might as well surrender to the Tower now."  
  
Shingo laughed. It hurt and felt good at the same time. "If Mori doesn't get us first."  
  
Kimura didn't reply. He trailed his fingertips along Shingo's face, his expression falling curiously quiet.  
  
It was odd, the easy intimacy of it-- when Shingo had met Kimura he'd been reluctant even to let Shingo bandage a cut, as skittish as a feral cat roaming the streets.  
  
But then he'd turned up on Shingo's doorstep one night, nearly unconscious from blood loss, deep slashes across his back and the side of his face telling of a run-in that might have finally been too much for him. Shingo had saved him, sewing his cuts and nursing him back to health, and ultimately giving him a new eye when the old proved beyond his skill. It had been hours and then days of intense care; Kimura had watched him the entire time, whenever he'd been conscious.  
  
After that it was like he'd been tamed. He'd stopped minding when Shingo touched him. He'd returned to Shingo's place more and more often, sharing the same space as him with a casualness that bespoke a much deeper trust. He'd become a friend to Shingo, as close as had probably been possible for the street-raised mercenary.  
  
And now, here he was, tending to Shingo instead of the other way around, reaching out to touch him as though he might suddenly turn insubstantial and fade away. Shingo felt the urge to do the same thing, as if there was something missing that he could only see with his fingertips.  
  
"You should get some sleep," Shingo whispered.  
  
Kimura frowned, his fingers tracing around the corner of Shingo's eye. "I'm fine. _You're_ the one who should be asleep."  
  
Shingo stretched his arms and winced at their soreness. " _I'm_ supposed to be the one who worries about people, not you."  
  
"I don't want you to get hurt again." Kimura's fingertips crossed his cheekbone, then trailed down to his mouth. They lingered above his upper lip for a long, silent moment. "I think I understand now."  
  
"Understand what?" His pulse quickened, suddenly, at the way Kimura was looking at him.  
  
"What you mean," Kimura said quietly, "when you say life is precious."  
  
Shingo tried to open his mouth, to say something even though he didn't know what to say--  
  
The older man's fingers slid down over his lips. "Shingo," he whispered. "I want-- I want--" His fingers slipped away, and then suddenly he was leaning over Shingo, hands planted on either side of him, looking down at him with a mix of determination and uncertainty. Shingo looked up into that expression and somewhere, deep in his mind, something clicked together. This was what was missing.  
  
He started to lift his hand, and then Kimura was leaning down and their lips met in the dark, tentative at first then growing certain, confident, _right_. Kimura's hair spilled over his shoulder and Shingo brushed it back, fingers tangling; like he was grasping ahold of that mirror, blind but if only he clung tightly enough--  
  
Kimura pulled back suddenly, hands firm on Shingo's shoulders. "You should sleep," he said again, his voice rough, and then his hands slipped away into the darkness.

 

The morning brought thousands of footsteps, racing back and forth and calling orders throughout the fortress. Nakai woke to find Tsuyoshi already peering out the door-- it was the meeting the rebels had mentioned the day before.  
  
Nakai joined him in the doorway, brushing aside the sudden urge to circle his arm around the man's waist. "Has it started?"  
  
"Not yet." Tsuyoshi bit his lip distractedly, staring down at the meeting area. The lieutenant was there, giving orders as rebels filled the hall. More were filing onto the balcony, leaning over the railing to watch; the rebels they'd met yesterday pushed their way over with grins of excitement.  
  
"Mori's gonna give a speech! Gotta be something _big_." They made a space for Tsuyoshi to join them.  
  
He looked back, reluctantly. "I guess I have to-- wait, Nakai, where's Goro?"  
  
Nakai glanced over-- Goro's bed was neatly rolled up, propped in the corner. "He was already asleep when we got back-- where would he have--"  
  
"You don't think he--" Tsuyoshi paled, clutching Nakai's shoulder. "I have to stay here--"  
  
"I'll look for him." Nakai brought his hand up-- hesitated-- and then let it rest on Tsuyoshi's back. Tsuyoshi breathed in quickly and smiled at him like that woman had smiled after dinner, warm and trusting and worth it. It was reassuring, Nakai thought distantly; touching someone was... comforting.  
  
He nodded and slipped downstairs behind the crowd, trying to walk the way the others around him did, the way you did when you were heading to work and patrols were prowling suspiciously. Inconspicuous, inconspicuous. The mantra of his life.  
  
Shingo was asleep, the medic tending to his IV drip. Kimura was nowhere to be seen. Even stranger, Nakai thought.  
  
Someone had stepped up on a platform, to cheers from the crowd. Mori was about speak.  
  
He hurried down the hallway, towards the mess hall. Maybe he could find Kimura first. He had a feeling Goro would be more interested in listening to him, not... another reminder of what he was.  
  
Not that he knew what to say to either of them. They were both frightening.  
  
" _This is your commander, whom you have sworn your loyalty to in the battle we face. Welcome all, veterans and initiates alike_."  
  
No one in the mess hall. He stepped back into the hallway--  
  
"Let me help." A low voice, strained. It was Goro.  
  
"No. I work alone." Kimura. The voices were coming from around the corner; Nakai crept towards it as quietly as he could, under the distant echoes of the speech.  
  
"I want to help. I want to be _useful_."  
  
"You're doing enough already. I don't _need_ help."  
  
" _You have gathered here because you share one thing in common: hatred for the Tower, for the lives it has taken and the oppression for which it stands--_ "  
  
"You never looked at me. It was always about--"  
  
" _What_? What are you--"  
  
"Kimura--" Nakai neared the corner. He could see Goro's back, dark hair tangled in his thin, pale fingers. "Give me an order. Tell me what to do. _Please_."  
  
"-- _that we may one day crush them as they try to crush us, and free our city from their tyranny!_ "  
  
Cheers. Nakai edged closer; Kimura looked lost, staring down at the man confronting him.  
  
"I don't know, I don't know anymore--" Goro stepped forward suddenly, clutching Kimura's shoulders. " _Please_ , just give me _something_ \--"  
  
" _And so we begin a new mission today, a strike that will pierce through their defenses and expose the very heart of the Tower itself_ \--"  
  
Kimura caught Nakai's eyes over Goro's head, hands hovering over the man's arms in confused indecision. _What do I do, what do I do_ \-- the question was unspoken this time but Nakai could hear it just as clearly-- but how could he convey what it meant to have left the only world you'd ever known, the only _self_ you'd ever known, to have only a few people you felt you could actually turn to--  
  
He gestured with his hands, inward. _Comfort_.  
  
"-- _so that we may break their power once and for all-- and take back what belongs to us!_ "  
  
Kimura understood. He closed his arms around Goro, stiff and uncertain, a man who had only ever seen hugs holding someone who barely remembered what one was-- and Goro folded against him, face pressing into his shoulder, hands relaxing as he untensed completely. The crowd cheered.  
  
The tall, willowy rebel whose long-nailed hand gripped Nakai's shoulder did not cheer. "And _what_ are you three up to?"  
  
  
"This better be quick. I've got riders to train."  
  
This was where the sound of motorcycles came from; a huge underground basement converted into a sort of obstacle racing course with at least a hundred motorcycles of various shapes and sizes throughout, each carrying a pair of armed riders. More a show of force than an efficient tactic, Kimura thought. He preferred more subtlety.  
  
"They were sneaking around during the speech. I saw _that one_ slip away from the crowd--"  
  
"Goro!" Tsuyoshi pushed through the crowd of waiting initiates, grasping Goro's arm. "Are you okay? You were upset the other day and then you weren't there-- I was worried--"  
  
Goro blinked at him, startled. "Tsuyoshi. I-- I'm sorry I made you worry."  
  
It was Tsuyoshi's turn to look startled. Goro glanced sideways at Kimura, waiting for approval? Kimura gave him a tiny nod. He could handle this, he told himself; it felt familiar, just like looking down into Shingo's face and--  
  
Mori strapped armor over her arms, gaze snapping to Kimura. "Trying to spy on us? I thought you were busy being a guard dog."  
  
Kimura stood his ground. He'd been trying to find a way out of the windowless fortress, so that they _could_ run if it came to it-- and to clear his head. There was too much in his thoughts, he was angry at the way they were being treated and confused by what had happened last night and most of all he hated this feeling of being _helpless_.  
  
To his surprise, Nakai spoke up first. "We want to help." He looked up at the two rebels, his face pale and nervous. "We-- we're supposed to be dangerous to the Tower somehow-- they want us _dead_ \--" He swallowed visibly, glancing at Goro. "But if you don't trust us then all we have is each other."  
  
Mori paused, studying him with a hard look. "If you're trying to make me feel sympathy for people from the Tower--"  
  
"We didn't _choose_ to be this way!" Nakai looked startled at himself, his hands shaking. "We're trying-- if you just let us _try_ \--"  
  
"Commander! Messenger coming in!"  
  
The crowd parted, and a small girl darted through. She panted, breathless, and spoke quickly. "Northeast district-- a raid-- patrols and elites--"  
  
"We're heading out." Mori grabbed her jacket, pulling it on over the armor. "Lieutenant, get me the squad leader. I want an experienced team for this, no initiates." The lieutenant nodded curtly, helping adjust the jacket on Mori's shoulders.  
  
"And these ones?"  
  
Mori glanced back at Nakai, face unreadable. "I'll make my decision when I return."  
  
  
The return was pandemonium.  
  
Shingo woke to the door flying open, rebels hauling someone bleeding to a bed. The medic yanked a pair of gloves on and dashed to the man's side. "Cut his shirt off-- tie a tourniquet around that one's thigh--"  
  
Another one followed, then another-- Shingo was up before he could even think about it, swinging his knees over the side of the bed. "I can help--"  
  
"Don't you _touch_ my people." Mori strode into the room, clutching her arm. The tall willowy one followed her, looking alarmed. "My commander--"  
  
"Shut up! They knew we were coming, these were experienced riders--"  
  
"Let me _help_." Shingo tugged the IV out of his arm. "Whatever you think the underground is, we don't sit around letting people _die_."  
  
The medic glanced at Mori, then Shingo-- "Get the last one stabilized. There's hemostatic packets here-- you, get a bucket of disinfectant and wash any tools either of us use--"  
  
Shingo grabbed the packets and set to work. Mori fumed silently, pacing the room while her lieutenant watched.  
  
By the time both critical patients were out of danger and the third's leg was bandaged, Mori had subsided somewhat, listening to reports in the doorway and issuing orders through the lieutenant.  
  
The medic sighed in relief, flashing Shingo a tired smile of gratitude, and turned to attend to her leader. "Sit," she said, examining Mori's arm.  
  
"It's just a scratch," Mori protested, but allowed herself to be guided to a bed. "This wasn't like last time."  
  
Shingo swayed slightly as his adrenaline sank back down. "Last time?"  
  
The lieutenant looked about to tell him off; Mori stopped them with a glance. "We attacked a patrol base in the Inner District. Half of my riders turned on me or ran."  
  
"You attacked a _patrol base_? But that's..."  
  
Mori raised her chin. "Like I said, no one's giving us any _better_ ideas. She can do things her way, and I'll do things _mine_."  
  
Shingo shook his head. Hadn't the two of them worked together at one point? Why was Mori so distrustful now? "Madame hates the Tower just as much as you, she wouldn't be trying to work _against_ you. If you talked with her--"  
  
"She'd give me some children's book bullshit and tell me to open my heart to _love_ , I'm sure." Mori took the gauze the medic brought over, wrapping it herself and rising to her feet despite looks from both the medic and the lieutenant. "Very well. You may assist in here under supervision. Your friends will--"  
  
"Will what?" Kimura was in the doorway, arms folded. The previous night flooded back into Shingo's mind. "What're you doing up?"  
  
"Helping." Shingo watched Kimura cross the room towards him. "One medic and a bunch of cross-trained fighters isn't enough to keep an army alive." Kimura was close now, so close and yet seemingly so far away. Shingo wanted to reach out and-- and--  
  
Kimura stroked his fingers over the bandage on Shingo's neck. It was curiously gentle, curiously... possessive. "You need rest."  
  
"He's volunteered his service to me. The rest of you-- I know you're standing in the hallway, get in here-- will be doing the same, if you value your continued sanctuary." Mori glared as Tsuyoshi, Nakai, and Goro peered in through the doorway. "Kimura. You will assist in training initiates, as you've already been demonstrating. I need experienced fighters, and I need them soon. You two--" Mori jerked her chin at Nakai and Goro. "--if you're so eager to prove yourselves, make me a plan to attack the Tower. I want everything I need to get inside and defeat them once and for all."  
  
Goro and Nakai both looked understandably startled;  information was one thing, but a plan to attack the _Tower_?  
  
Mori finally turned her attention on Tsuyoshi, eyes flicking over his arm. "You'll report on both to me, for lack of a better service at the moment." She turned to her lieutenant. "That's my decision. Enforce it if necessary."  
  
Shingo swayed again, reaching for Kimura's shoulder. It was bitter and contemptuous, still flavored with years of hardened mistrust, but it was a victory. They would help Mori and her rebels fight-- and help them stay alive. Maybe they would earn their candidacy as the Five Stars after all.

 

Tsuyoshi's arm was improving; it didn't feel painful anymore, just weak and useless against the splint supporting it. That was about right, he thought bitterly as he reached the door to the command room. He still couldn't even practice any of the moves Kimura had taught him, and the task Mori had assigned him was more to keep him busy than actually necessary. The rebel commander had more observant eyes and ears than Tsuyoshi, and already knew everything by the time he arrived to report.  
  
At least his arm was improving. "Commander, I've come to deliver my daily report."  
  
"Kusanagi." Mori didn't look up from the documents she was studying. "Report."  
  
"Shingo has recovered completely and is helping restock the infirmary. Kimura and Goro have finished teaching throws and are moving on to blunt weapons. They say the current group'll be ready by the end of the week."  
  
"Good. And?"  
  
Tsuyoshi glanced down at the documents surreptitiously, trying to read them upside down. Some kind of list of places, the northeast base at the top... "Nakai and Goro are still working on a map of the Tower and who works where. It's not going well because Nakai never worked there and Goro doesn't want anything to do with them anymore--"  
  
Mori snapped her head up sharply. "What kind of excuse is that? If he wants to prove he's not bluffing--"  
  
"He's--" Tsuyoshi recalled what Nakai had told him, and the expression on Goro's face whenever he looked at Kimura. "He's trying not to lose it. They did something awful to him, so he's trying to become someone else entirely."  
  
Mori studied him. "So in other words, he's crazy." Tsuyoshi couldn't really argue with that-- Goro let strange things slip sometimes, about people they didn't know and things they hadn't done, and he didn't know what you were talking about when you asked him. Even Kimura had agreed it made his head hurt.  
  
The commander of the rebels sighed. "I don't have time for this. Bluff or not, get whatever you can out of them and bring me something useful next time." She turned back to her documents, a clear signal to leave.  
  
Tsuyoshi paused by the door; Mori looked exhausted. She'd been fighting the Tower for years, and still hadn't given up. She was determined to win, no matter what the cost-- and she still believed that she _could_ win.  
  
He wondered, though, what would happen if she succeeded.  
  
  
"She had a list of places the Tower's attacked," Tsuyoshi announced as he shut the door to their room. "The northeast base was at the top, and some other rebel hideouts I've heard them mention were listed after that."  
  
Shingo stopped in his stretches, sitting cross-legged. "So they're attacking all the rebel hideouts they can find, then. Finally cracking down, you think?"  
  
"Looking for us." Kimura was leaning in the corner, fiddling with his second earring as he watched Shingo. "The channel's got reports of them interrogating street people. They must know the rebels have us by now."  
  
Nakai looked up from where he and Goro were bent over a sheet of paper, trying yet again to see what they could get Goro to recall without hyperventilating. Judging by the numerous games of X's and O's scrawled along one edge, it hadn't been successful. "Nothing about the Five Stars?"  
  
"Nothing." Tsuyoshi sighed, sitting down next to him. "I don't think she thinks it's important. She's determined to fight them with or without our help." Nakai nodded, lifting his hand to rest on Tsuyoshi's back. He was improving, too.  
  
"We need more info on the Tower," Kimura said, stepping away from the corner to stand behind Goro. "Everything you can remember."  
  
"I know." Goro looked at his hands. "I'm trying. I'm afraid."  
  
Shingo scooted closer to him. "You fought them already. You saved me, remember? They won't control you."  
  
"They already did," Goro replied, a tiny unsteady note in his voice. "They got all of us, before."  
  
"Before?" Shingo glanced up at Kimura. The older man stared at Goro, expression thoughtful.  
  
Goro closed his eyes. "We were afraid-- we should have-- we should have--"  
  
"Protected each other," Kimura murmured, and then frowned. "The hell?"  
  
Tsuyoshi rubbed his forehead. There it was again, the feeling of something trying to push its way forward. It was like with Nakai. "Have we _all_ met before?"  
  
"I feel like I'm trying to remember something," Shingo agreed, still looking up at Kimura. "I had strange dreams when I was asleep, too. About something _before_."  
  
Goro pressed the spot between his eyes. "I don't want to remember _before_ \-- I don't want to be that--"  
  
"Goro--" Shingo steaded the man's shoulder with his hand. "It's okay, you're one of us, you don't have to be him--" Goro made a soft noise and slumped into him, eyes still squeezed shut. Shingo blinked, expression conflicting between confusion and something softer. His arm hesitated for a moment, and then gently settled around Goro.  
  
Goro opened his eyes and stared at Shingo. "Oh," he said, simply. Shingo glanced up at Kimura again, both of their expressions unreadable. Kimura turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.  
  
Tsuyoshi exchanged a glance with Nakai. If they _had_ all met before, he thought, they clearly had a lot of history.  
  
  
Nakai found him in the training room. Kimura flicked his channel earring off, looking down from the stack of training mats he was lying on as the man approached.  
  
"You said he was trying to become someone else," he said, folding his arms behind his head. "Maybe I am, too."  
  
Nakai stood at the base of the stack. "You want to forget something?"  
  
Kissing Shingo, Goro pressing tightly against him-- "No." He stared up at the ceiling. "How do _you_ do it?"  
  
"Do what?"  
  
He sat up, dropping his legs over the side of the mats. "Stay sane."  
  
Nakai considered this, climbing up onto the mats to sit with him. "I have Tsuyoshi."  
  
They stared out at the empty room. Nakai, who could still barely even touch Tsuyoshi, except for those mornings when he woke up curled around the younger man. Kimura pictured Goro doing the same thing to him. But he couldn't teach Goro what Tsuyoshi could teach Nakai-- it was Shingo who fit there, in his place. Or maybe _Kimura_ was the one reaching out in his sleep--  
  
He gripped the edge of the mat. "I said I'd try, didn't I," he murmured, glancing over. "Didn't think there was so much to understand."  
  
Nakai smiled faintly. "Me neither."  
  
For all that he'd lived in the same world as Shingo, Kimura thought, he was nearly as different from the younger man as Nakai was from Tsuyoshi. Like the Tower had managed to neutralize him, after all. Maybe they _had_ been the ones to make him an orphan, like Shingo had suggested, taking away whatever he might have known about love.  
  
He leaped down from the mats, the word echoing inside him like nervous energy. "Can't be any scarier than a patrol," he said, giving Nakai's foot a tug. "Let's get back."  
  
  
There was another Tower raid that evening, engines roaring as Mori led the defense out into the night. Tsuyoshi paced the meeting hall, rubbing his arm nervously as Nakai and Goro doodled another quiet game on their sheet of paper. Kimura was helping Shingo, but the rest of them weren't allowed into the infirmary-- Nakai and Goro because Mori would have a fit, and Tsuyoshi, though no one had put it in as many words, because he would be in the way.  
  
"Does your arm hurt?"  
  
Tsuyoshi shook his head. "No, it's just-- weak." He sighed, glancing at the hallway. "I still can't do anything."  
  
Nakai reached out and pinched the hem of Tsuyoshi's shirt, tugging him over. " _I'm_ the one who can't do anything. Not by myself."  
  
Tsuyoshi's expression softened. He caught Nakai's hand, pulling him up. "You're trying," he said quietly, rubbing his thumb along the ridges of Nakai's knuckles.  
  
"Because of you." Nakai stepped closer. It was only when he'd said it to Kimura that he'd realized how true it was. He couldn't do any of this, not without Tsuyoshi. Tsuyoshi had to understand that, this time--  
  
Goro pushed himself up suddenly, frowning. "Because of--" he murmured, head turning to look at the infirmary door. He fidgeted for a moment, then grabbed the sheet of paper and set off for the stairs, heading for their room as if in deep thought.  
  
"What happened?" Tsuyoshi squeezed Nakai's hand anxiously. "Do you think we should--"  
  
The sound of engines-- rebels racing through the halls, carrying supplies-- the infirmary door swung open just in time to admit the first fallen patient, carted up on one of the makeshift stretchers Shingo had gotten the rebels to make.  
  
Kimura appeared in the doorway, grabbing the end of the stretcher. "How many?"  
  
Tsuyoshi dashed down the hallway, peering through the crowd. "Four!" he shouted, racing back. "One's bleeding from the chest--" Kimura swore, and disappeared back inside.  
  
Mori strode through the crowd, her lieutenant looming protectively behind her. "Squad leader, I want full report on the battle," she told a woman dressed in similar armor and leather. Nakai recognized her as the one who'd rescued them from the Tower's ambush. "We shouldn't have lost that base, it was our most strategic position for attacking the Tower."  
  
"The ones who turned are either critical or dead, Commander." The squad leader glanced at the infirmary door. "I'll interrogate the ones who wake up. We were expecting stronger ground support at the base."  
  
"Indeed." Mori scowled. "We need better training, if so many can't even set foot in an Inner district without losing their nerve. Bring me your initial report in an hour." The squad leader nodded, and hurried off through the crowd.  
  
"My commander," the lieutenant spoke. "We have lost another base?"  
  
"Leaving a handful that aren't much more than warehouses," Mori replied, fists curling, "and _here_. We need to strike back, and soon."  
  
"As long as it does not turn out the same way as before." The lieutenant looked at Mori with concern. "If you were to be killed--"  
  
"I won't be." Mori smiled at them grimly. "As long as those loyal to me _stay_ loyal to me."  
  
The lieutenant spread one triangle-dotted hand across their chest, fire lit in their eyes. "My commander."  
  
The hard lines of Mori's face softened, just for a moment-- and then the door above the infirmary flew open and Goro dashed out, clutching several sheets of paper. He raced down the stairs and skidded to a halt at Mori's feet, pressing the papers into her hands. "The Tower-- the plans--" he gasped, and then threw up.

 

"You did it? You were able to remember?" Shingo grinned at Goro, squeezing his shoulder. The papers were spread out on a table in the command room-- Goro had drawn a map of the Tower, labeling with delicate precision every room and the people likely to be in them. Other pages detailed possible paths through the Tower, all culminating at--  
  
"The top. We have to reach the top." Mori picked up the sheet with the highest floor of the Tower on it. It was blank.  
  
"I don't know what's there," Goro said quietly, leaning into Shingo's hand. "But it's where the Leaders are."  
  
Kimura stood close on Goro's other side, studying the careful drawing of the ground floor. "How many are there?"  
  
Goro bowed his head. "I don't know. Only the highest officials saw them." Kimura caught Shingo's eye, and then rested his hand on the back of Goro's neck, just above the diamond. "It's fine. Good work."  
  
"There's at least two hundred people to deal with, not counting the fight to get in." Mori tapped her nails on the paper, looking at her second-in-commands. They were the same three that had met with Shingo and Kimura, now properly introduced as lieutenant commander, motorcycle squadron leader, and training captain. Throwing up at Mori's feet had done a lot to convince her of their sincerity, apparently. "We'll need everyone we can spare. How many can we get on the motorcycles?"  
  
"Two hundred twenty-four in battle pairs," the squad leader replied. "More if they're just hanging on."  
  
"See how many you can fit. What's our current total? Five hundred?"  
  
The training captain nodded. "Close to five hundred total, about half that fully trained for fighting."  
  
"Train the rest. Use him," Mori motioned at Kimura, "and as many ground fighters as you can to help."  
  
The captain crossed his arms, but did not argue. Mori turned to the lieutenant. "We'll need weapons, armor, fuel--"  
  
Tsuyoshi slid the sheet with the blank top floor over, staring at it. "What if you win?"  
  
Mori stopped. Her second-in-commands froze, as if expecting a burst of anger, but Mori simply looked Tsuyoshi over. "We _will_ win," she said, and the determination in her voice brooked no argument. "And when we do, we will take over."  
  
  
They stayed as Mori and the lieutenant hashed out plans and issued orders to various sub-leaders; Mori drilled Goro for further details on seemingly everything, until the man was pale and trembling slightly under Shingo's hand. Kimura had kept his hand on Goro's neck as well, sliding down to curl slightly over the top of the diamond.  
  
When they were finally allowed out, Shingo turned to Kimura. "Can you take him to bed? I should double-check on the patients--"  
  
Kimura blinked at him and then outright _blushed_ \-- Oh. Shingo hadn't thought about his choice of words. "Maybe _you_ should--"  
  
"I did it because of you," Goro said, raising his head to look at them. "Both of you."  
  
Shingo heard a tiny "oh" from Tsuyoshi and glanced back to see him tugging Nakai away. Crap. "Because of us? I thought it was for Mori."  
  
"No." Goro took a breath as if about to dive into water and grabbed their hands. "For you." He stared at their joined hands-- had he ever held someone's hand before?-- and looked up at them again, something wild and desperate in his eyes. "I can't do this without you."  
  
Shingo let his fingers curl around Goro's automatically. Kimura's followed suit a moment later. "I guess the patients can wait."  
  
  
Goro pulled them in through the door, refusing to let go. Kimura didn't dare try.  
  
"What do you--" Want? Need? Kimura wasn't Tsuyoshi, he wasn't Shingo, he wasn't even _Nakai_ , who could at least understand the strange connection Goro still felt with the Tower. What could he possibly give Goro that someone else couldn't do better?  
  
Goro looked between them, lips moving uncertainly. "I want to fight them. To-- to remember."  
  
Shingo's eyebrows knitted together. "Are you sure? If it hurts so much--"  
  
"I _have_ to." Goro clutched their hands, knuckles turning white. "If I don't remember, they'll _win_. I-- I can't pretend I'm not him, I can't-- let them take that away from me."  
  
Shingo stepped foward and wrapped his arms around Goro, hugging him tightly. Goro hesitated, and then dropped his chin to Shingo's shoulder with a sigh.  
  
Kimura stared down at the hand still clinging to his own. "Does it help you fight?"  
  
Goro nodded into Shingo's shoulder. "They tried to take this away, too," he murmured. "Nothing but fear, and hate--"  
  
Kimura pulled Goro's arm around Shingo's back, pressing close behind the dark-haired man until he was held between them. His other hand found the back of Shingo's neck; one of Shingo's arms slipped from Goro's shoulders to his own, gripping his shirt tightly. "Tell us," Kimura whispered, into Goro's ear. "Tell us everything you remember."  
  
Goro lifted his head, in that tight circle of protection, and began to speak.  
  
  
"Do you think we should go back yet?" Tsuyoshi glanced over at Nakai as they wandered by the kitchens, hand in hand. The halls were mostly empty; the meeting with Mori had lasted well into the night, and Nakai was yawning openly now. "They might still be talking."  
  
Or... other things. Tsuyoshi was sure something had happened from how Shingo and Kimura had been acting lately, and the way Goro looked at them...  
  
"I'm fine like this," Nakai said, giving him a little sleepy smile. He swung their hands slightly as they walked.  
  
He looked... happy. The thought made something flood over in Tsuyoshi's chest, and he gave Nakai's hand a tight squeeze, their shoulders bumping. "Me too."  
  
A rebel they recognized came trotting by, the woman who'd expressed her appreciation for Kimura as a trainer. She grinned at their joined hands. "Looking for a room? My roommate's out for the night."  
  
Tsuyoshi felt his cheeks pinken. "Uh, no, that's alright, we're just out for a walk."  
  
The woman looked amused. "If you say so. Well, don't be too shy to ask when you _do_ need one." She winked at them and took off down the hall.  
  
"Was that about kissing again?" Nakai asked, quietly.  
  
Tsuyoshi almost laughed, but Nakai had turned to him with a serious expression. "Yes."  
  
"Tsuyoshi." Nakai stepped closer, trying to hold his gaze steady. "Thank you." His fingers clutched Tsuyoshi's nervously, heartbeat speeding through the touch. "You-- you keep protecting me but I--" He seemed to give up on words, suddenly, and brought his other hand up to Tsuyoshi's shoulder-- and then he was leaning in, brushing Tsuyoshi's lips in a tiny, soft kiss.  
  
Nakai was-- they were finally-- but it had been longer than that, longer than _this_ lifetime, how long had they looked at each other from a distance because _he_ was too weak and _she_ was too strong and there was no time for love when they had to lead the fight--  
  
Nakai pulled away, sucking in a tiny breath of air in the space between them. Tsuyoshi clung to his hand _don't let go of me please don't let go this time_ \-- but when had that time been?  
  
"Who are we?" Nakai murmured. "How do we know each other like this?"  
  
Tsuyoshi swayed forward, resting his forehead against Nakai's. "Maybe-- maybe we met in a previous life. It feels like--" His eyes slipped to Nakai's mouth again, as though it might help him remember. "--like we were meant to find each other again."  
  
"Again." Nakai studied Tsuyoshi's face, his hand still tentative on Tsuyoshi's shoulder-- and then a tiny smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "Then-- it feels like I'm doing something right this time."  
  
Tsuyoshi smiled back, as bright and reassuring as he could. "You are," he said, and even without strange memories whispering to him he knew it was true. Everything was going to be alright.

 

Kimura woke in the morning to the unfamiliar sensation of holding someone close.  
  
His first instinct was to open his eyes, to pull away and close his heart before it could get the better of him. That had been one of the first things he'd taught himself, on the street. It was hard enough for everyone to survive that you couldn't count on others to help _you_ survive, too. The only person you could trust was yourself.  
  
He kept his eyes closed.  
  
He'd kissed Shingo. He'd hugged Goro. They'd held the dark-haired man together, and listened to his life. There was no turning tail and running, now; they were inexplicably intertwined, not just physically but as though Goro had pried open his and Shingo's hearts and poured his own in for safekeeping. He had to try, for their sakes. He... wanted to.  
  
He opened his eyes. Goro was curled between them, their arms wrapped protectively around him; despite what the Tower had done to him, Goro seemed to crave touch now, as if along with all those memories he'd forgotten what the sensation was altogether. Somehow it felt right that it was them that he'd turned to. Like they were meant to protect him, like he was meant to stand alongside them, one of them.  
  
And breathing slow and soft by his ear Shingo slept, the man who'd made him wonder if maybe, maybe there were some people it was okay to let in. He levered himself up on his elbow slightly, looking down at him.  
  
_You're injured, the man said. His white-blond hair stuck out from the goggles pushed up on his head. I can fix it, if you want.  
  
Kimura squinted up from the doorstep where he'd taken refuge from the rain. No one did anything for free.  
  
Here. The man pulled some kind of white cloth from his coat, taking a step closer. Kimura scooted back, ready to stand-- he could get away easily, even with the cut on his arm--  
  
The man stopped, his hand dropping. I'm not going to hurt you. He crouched, in the rain, and held out the cloth again. I want to help you. If you'll let me._  
  
Shingo shifted slightly, and a moment later his eyes cracked open. He blinked sleepily at Goro, fingers brushing his back, and then focused on Kimura with a faint smile. Important, so important-- Kimura leaned down and kissed him.  
  
He didn't understand. But he would try.  
  
A sharp knock on the door broke them apart much too soon, Shingo's hand slipping away from his cheek. Kimura looked up to see a very red Nakai scrambling up to answer the door.  
  
It was the training captain. "Emergency classes start in half an hour," he said, not batting an eyelid at the compromising tangle Kimura appeared to be in. "We've got an army to train."  
  
  
"So do I get to tease _you_ now?" Tsuyoshi poked Shingo in the side as they headed to the command room.  
  
"What? It's not-- not like--" Shingo felt himself blushing. Okay, maybe it _was_. "I mean, we didn't do anything, y'know, like _that_."  
  
"But you want to." Tsuyoshi grinned. "You're in _love_ , aren't you?"  
  
Shingo laughed, running his fingers nervously through his hair. Love? Was that even possible? There was so much running through his head-- like having two minds at once-- it was hard to even tell. "I don't know-- it's so-- I don't think Kimura even knows what that _is_. And Goro--" He shuddered, remembering the dark-haired man's words in his ear.  
  
"I think they're trying to," Tsuyoshi said, giving him a soft smile as they reached the door to the command room. "We've just got to show them how."  
  
Shingo smiled back, feeling a little lighter. Tsuyoshi really would have gotten on well with his brother. Someday, if they made it to the underground, he'd have to show him the murals. If he could face them himself.  
  
Mori was waiting for them, along with the medic; they were inspecting a small pen-shaped object that appeared to have a tiny flashlight on one end.  
  
"That's the thing Goro used!" Tsuyoshi rushed forward. "You took it from him, didn't you?"  
  
Mori gave him a cool look. "I'm free to confiscate anything that might threaten my people," she replied, setting the pen on the table between them. "But it appears this may actually be of some use."  
  
Shingo picked it up, turning it over. "This is what he used to seal my wound?"  
  
"It's a sort of organic welder," the medic said, enthusiasm apparent in her voice. "One end dispenses a gold nanoshell suspension, and the other's an infrared laser to activate the shells and seal them together. Completely replaces the need for suturing!"  
  
"That's amazing!" Shingo squeezed a tiny bit of the suspension out on his hand, pulling his goggles up from around his neck to peer through at it. "Fascinating, I'd heard of nanoshells being used to treat tumors but I'd never thought of using them on topical wounds--"  
  
Mori cleared her throat. "Yes, anyway, what I want to know is if we can make these. We have five hundred fighters, half of which may just barely remember how to block by the time we get to the battlefield. If we can keep at least that many alive, we may have a chance at winning the fight."  
  
Shingo lowered his goggles, setting the pen back down. Of course-- it was just a means to a lesser evil. "There's some colloidal gold I can experiment with in my kit. If that works-- it'll be expensive, though, if you want enough colloid and lasers for five hundred--"  
  
"Fine. Just give me something that will work." Mori handed the pen to the medic. "Oversee this project and report the progress to me."  
  
The medic hurried excitedly to Shingo's side, pulling out a small touchscreen. "I've made a diagram of the basic nanoshell structure-- we'll need to add an atomic level to your glasses, my microscope's just barely strong enough--"  
  
"As for you--" Mori said, turning to Tsuyoshi.  
  
"You're not going to give it back?" Tsuyoshi eyed the pen with a frown. "It's Goro's."  
  
Mori raised an eyebrow. "Why would he need it back? As you claim, he's not working as a spy anymore."  
  
Tsuyoshi's gaze drifted to the faint scar on Shingo's neck. "So he can protect people."  
  
"I'm not here to play _therapist_." Mori folded her arms, scowling. "If you're just going to waste my time, go back to training. I've no further use for you."  
  
Tsuyoshi stared at her for a moment, eyes widening. Then he turned on his heel and left the room, clutching his arm tightly in anger.  
  
  
Nakai stared at the thing at the end of his hand. He could hold it. If he didn't think about what it was, or what it could do-- _red seeping around the edges-- his hand holding the--_  
  
He dropped the knife with a clatter. The rebels around him glanced over, startled-- he couldn't even hold onto a weapon--  
  
"You've gotta get used to it," Kimura murmured, sidling near him as the trainees practiced the moves he'd demonstrated. "I don't get what's so terrifying about a _knife_ , anyway."  
  
Goro trailed behind Kimura as if waiting for his next task. He took in the knife on the floor and Nakai's shaking hands, and realization seemed to wash over his face. "Your hands," he said softly. "The knife is in your hands."  
  
Nakai looked down, nodding silently. Goro knew.  
  
"What's that?" Kimura glanced between them. "Something else the Tower did?"  
  
"It's a... correction." Goro stared at Nakai distantly. "For those who act out." He frowned, lifting one hand as though to reach out.  
  
The door to the training room swung open, and Tsuyoshi came marching in. "They took your belongings," he said, advancing on Goro. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"  
  
Goro blinked at him. "Were they not supposed to?"  
  
"They're _yours_." Tsuyoshi grabbed Goro's hand, looking up into his face seriously. "You shouldn't have to be treated like that. You're one of us, you didn't even have to prove yourself for us to know that."  
  
Goro's lips moved wordlessly, taken aback. He looked down at Tsuyoshi's hand, and with conscious effort, curled his fingers in return. "Th-- thank you."  
  
Kimura leaned on Goro's shoulder. "Want me to steal 'em back?"  
  
The dark-haired man looked overwhelmed for a moment; then his lips twitched and he let out a tiny huff of laughter. "Is that what you do for someone who's one of you?" He turned his head slightly, studying Kimura's face from inches away--  
  
"I think the captain needs you," Nakai interrupted, trying to keep from blushing. The training captain was motioning from across the room with increasing impatience. Kimura swore under his breath and grabbed Goro's wrist, dragging him away.  
  
Tsuyoshi scooted into the training ranks next to Nakai. "They didn't take anything from _you_ , did they?" He was still upset; Nakai rested his hand on Tsuyoshi's back, gratified when the younger man immediately leaned into the touch. "They're no better than the Tower," Tsuyoshi said quietly, rubbing the dots on his pinky with his thumb. "What's the point if they're just going to rule with fear and anger?"  
  
"They're better than the Tower," Nakai told him firmly. "You don't get punished for laughing. Or-- kissing."  
  
Tsuyoshi squatted, picking up the knife Nakai had dropped. "I just hope they stay that way." He straightened, hefting it experimentally. "Guess I'd better catch up if I want to find out."

 

It took two days to make a breakthrough; Shingo and the medic had practically turned one end of the infirmary into a makeshift laboratory by the time they finally got something that worked, and the result was still a bit unstable at best. But it worked, and it would keep people alive.  
  
"Really it's more useful for surgery than field medicine," the medic warned as they demonstrated on a piece of chicken for Mori. "I don't recommend anyone trying to weld together arteries without a good deal more knowledge of anatomy."  
  
"How much knowledge do they need?" Mori examined the repaired piece of meat. "Can you train them?"  
  
"Produce medics out of thin air, you mean?" The medic swayed slightly, looking as exhausted as Shingo felt. "I'll see what I can do."  
  
Mori looked up sharply. "We've got to do everything we can to win this fight. Treat it as if it was our last."  
  
For better or worse? Despite the breakthrough, the air in the hideout was growing desperate, running headlong towards a last stand at a breakneck pace. It seemed inevitable, a foregone conclusion with no other options. Surely there was another way-- but Shingo couldn't think of anything. There was no time to.  
  
The medic nodded, already scrolling through a touchscreen as she backed from the room, and Mori turned to him. "Good. We'll provide the materials to produce more tomorrow morning." She stepped around the table, regarding him with a scrutinizing look. "I've got one last question for you before you go. Why did you leave the underground?"  
  
This again. He should have known it wasn't settled yet. "If you're looking for conspiracies again--"  
  
Mori waved her hand, lips pressing together. "It doesn't matter anymore. I just want to ask the reason."  
  
Shingo rubbed his eyes. There were a lot of reasons, all of which he tried not to think about too much. "I-- lost too many people there. And what the Tower was doing-- it just didn't feel right not to help."  
  
"Why didn't they?" Mori's eyes flashed with anger. "When the Tower started making patrols and sending silencers out, why didn't they come up to help?"  
  
"I don't know," Shingo said quickly, raising his hands. "But they've been down there a long time, maybe even since the first rebellion. If they had a way to fight back, why would they have waited so long?"  
  
Mori sighed, looking at the map spread on the table. "Maybe I've been fighting them too long," she said, almost as if to herself. "Everyone starts to look like an enemy." For a moment she looked tired, as though she'd been fighting an uphill battle since the day she'd been born.  
  
Then her expression steeled once more, and she nodded curtly to Shingo. "That's all for today. Report to the infirmary tomorrow morning."  
  
  
Shingo breathed a sigh of relief as he closed the door behind him. It was the middle of the night already; he should probably get to bed if he was going to be making more nanoshell suspension in the morning. They could probably batch the process to save some time, but there was only so much the equipment they had could handle. Maybe if they...  
  
Kimura was waiting for him, leaning against the wall next to the door. "More interrogation?"  
  
Shingo yawned. "Underground again. Nothing new."  
  
Kimura fell into step beside him. "Didn't seem dangerous when _I_ met her. Just... odd."  
  
"That's Madame's sight. She said it mostly tells her when the tea's ready." She'd had it since she was a little girl, she'd said, back when the city had just begun to grow dark. "Someone told me she used it to lead them underground in the first place, though. Guess she saw how bad the city would get."  
  
Kimura glanced sideways, eyes flicking over Shingo's scar. "She told me to stay by your side."  
  
Shingo felt his cheeks color. "She thought you were my assistant-- I don't think she was _predicting_ \--" he started, but Kimura cut him off, backing him into the wall and kissing him, hands cradling his face and combing into his hair as he pressed in close. Shingo sucked in a breath against Kimura's lips, arms slipping around the older man's waist automatically. _Finally_ , he thought, or something inside him thought, pulling Kimura against him and stroking his hands up his back. It had been such a frustrating two days, barely even seeing anyone but the medic-- everyone was busy with training, preparing for a fight that might be the last one they'd ever face-- if he could just protect them all--  
  
Kimura's hands slipped to the wall behind Shingo, pushing back slightly. "Sleep," he said, breathless, eyes still lingering on Shingo's mouth as though he was having a hard time listening to himself. Shingo nodded reluctantly, trailing a hand up to Kimura's neck. There was so much he wanted to do, so much to figure out between them-- and Goro, whatever the strange triangle between them was-- but there wasn't time.  
  
"Sleep," he agreed, his mouth stretching into another yawn. Kimura smirked.  
  
"Move it, then," he said, poking Shingo in the side. "Might be your assistant but I'm not gonna _carry_ you to bed."  
  
  
Mori was observing the training now, scanning her fighters' abilities and drawing up strategies of attack with the squad leader. They'd covered longer weapons-- pipes, crowbars, whatever you could find lying in the street-- which Kimura considered a no-brainer, and after this the squad leader would take whoever was good enough down to train on the motorcycles. They were about as well-trained as an army of inexperienced new fighters was going to get. Kimura followed behind with the training captain, wondering if it was going to be good enough.  
  
"--can fit four without losing too much speed, the two on the outside should use one-handed weapons until dismount--"  
  
"--while the battle pairs keep the usual tactic--" Mori nodded as the captain listed off the skills of another set of fighters, jotting something down on the touchpad. "--so about two hundred competent at one-handed and close combat for the ground, one hundred long-range or one-handed in back, and one hundred drivers good at one-handed so far. Can we fix up any more bikes?"  
  
"Still working on it. If we sacrifice speed on half the squad, we can fit another fifty or so without overturning." The squad leader glanced around the room doubtfully. "You're sure you want to bring _everyone_?"  
  
Mori stopped; they'd reached Tsuyoshi and Nakai, who were standing with the group of rebels they seemed to have become friends with. The rebels straightened instantly at the commander's presence, faces lighting up eagerly. It was, after all, what they'd joined for. Nakai looked decidedly less enthusiastic.  
  
It was Tsuyoshi Mori leveled her gaze at, though. "Skills?"  
  
"All have passed except two," the captain replied, scrolling through his own notes. "Nakai Masahiro, knife combat not passed, and Kusanagi Tsuyoshi, close combat and long range not passed."  
  
Nakai flushed, looking down; Tsuyoshi lifted his chin defiantly instead, returning Mori's look eye for eye.  
  
Mori's mouth twisted, and she turned back to the squad leader. "There may be some it'd be suicide for. I'll consider when I've got the full numbers." She stepped past the group, moving on.  
  
Kimura found Tsuyoshi afterward, watching the remaining group of rebels practice hand-to-hand combat. "She's right, you know. It'd be suicide."  
  
"Isn't it suicide anyway?" Tsuyoshi picked at his bandages distractedly. "She's trying to win with sheer numbers. It doesn't matter if half of us die, just so long as it's a win in the end."  
  
Kimura sat next to him, crossing his legs. He couldn't deny that. "But you still want to go."  
  
Tsuyoshi smiled as if he'd swallowed something bitter. "I'm tired of being weak."  
  
Kimura closed his eyes, thinking of flowers. _It's a wonder you're not dead_ , he'd told him, because how could someone who cared about _flowers_ survive in this world? But it was Tsuyoshi who'd stayed his hand on Goro's neck, Tsuyoshi who'd believed that even a Tower spy was capable of changing. He'd survived in the same world Kimura had, not by closing his heart off but by trusting, carelessly and heedlessly.  
  
"You were right," he said quietly, picking at his bootlaces. "To believe in him."  
  
Tsuyoshi looked over, startled. "No-- you were right. I almost got everyone killed."  
  
"If you'd left him tied up," Kimura said, digging into his coat pocket, "he wouldn't be here with us." He pulled out the package he'd grabbed at the last second, slightly battered and bent from its rough journey, and thumped it down on Tsuyoshi's knee.  
  
It was the curry roux. Tsuyoshi picked it up, staring at it uncomprehendingly.  
  
"I love that stuff." Kimura stood quickly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "So you better make enough for all of us, okay?"  
  
He turned to go-- but not before Tsuyoshi looked up and gave him a smile that felt like the sun, warming him back to life.

 

Goro sat on the bed nearest to the lab Shingo and the medic had set up. His feet dangled a tiny distance above the floor, not quite touching; he fought the urge to set them flat on the floor and instead made them swing slightly. It was disorienting. Like flying. Like freedom.  
  
He watched Shingo sit back and stretch his arms. Shingo was disorienting, too. Part of Goro had opened its eyes, at that arm around his shoulders, and found that it wanted to touch Shingo, wanted to feel the tips of his white-blond hair and the edge where his shirt met his neck and the way the muscles moved in his arms. Another part thought of Kimura and was almost... _resentful_ at Shingo, he knew he shouldn't be but _they_ 'd only ever had eyes for each other even if they'd never admitted it, they could never have looked at him and in the end they'd all been uncertain and afraid, alone even though they stood together--  
  
Shingo glanced back at him, pushing his goggles up and grinning lopsidedly. "Not much to watch, is it?"  
  
Goro rose, standing next to Shingo to scan the equipment hastily pieced together. The laboratories in the Tower had been carefully organized, every tube and piece of glassware arranged with neat precision. "This is the formula for the welder?"  
  
"Almost. It's still reacting, and then we gotta centrifuge it to separate out the nanoshell suspension." Shingo rubbed his shoulder, yawning. "Then it's one more batch 'til lunchtime."  
  
Goro looked down at Shingo's shoulder, following the movements of his fingers. They'd listened to him, they'd let him in between them. If he could stay here-- "Are you in love with Kimura?"  
  
Shingo glanced up quickly, cheeks reddening. "What? I-- I don't--" He caught Goro's eye and looked away again, dropping his hand to his lap. "Maybe. I think so. Yes." He laughed, running his fingers through his hair nervously. "Are you?"  
  
"I don't know." Goro reached out, just barely brushing the end of a lock of hair. "I think I want to. I don't know how."  
  
Shingo's eyes darkened, just for a moment-- then he shook his head slightly and gave Goro a weak smile. "I dunno if any of us know _how_. You just gotta do whatever your heart says."  
  
Tsuyoshi had said something like that, too. It had sounded completely alien then; now he thought he understood but if this was his heart it was telling him too many things. He let his hand fall to Shingo's shoulder, warmth flooding up through his palm. "Can I kiss him?"  
  
Shingo blushed again, all the way to the tips of his ears. "That's not really-- up to me--"  
  
"Then--" Goro clutched Shingo's shoulder, all those confused thoughts racing past each other trying to make some sense. "Can I kiss you?"  
  
Shingo's mouth fell open. He stared speechlessly-- _Too much_ , Goro thought, he didn't even know what he wanted from Shingo so how could he expect Shingo to-- "Okay." Shingo sat up, turning slightly in the chair. "If-- you're sure you want to." He tucked his goggles a little more securely into his hair.  
  
_I want to_ , Goro thought, and leaned in carefully. Slight tilt of head, press lips together, was it necessary to hold his breath? Perhaps he was doing this wrong--  
  
Shingo's hand found his shoulder, pushing back lightly. "I forgot, you probably never-- the Tower--" His eyes flicked down to Goro's lips, brow wrinkling slightly under the goggles. "Here."  
  
His hand slipped to Goro's neck and pulled him in again, meeting his lips gently, coaxing them to part. Ah-- you didn't have to hold your breath, it was better if you didn't, it was hot and _real_ and Goro let his eyes fall half shut the way Shingo's had so there was only the kiss and Shingo leading the way. _I want to_ , he thought again. _I want to_.  
  
They pulled apart. Shingo's hand lingered on his neck, the younger man seeming to study his face as if trying to decide something. "Kimura--" he said, and cut off at the sound of knocking on the door.  
  
Goro straightened quickly-- when had his pulse gotten so fast?-- a moment before Tsuyoshi peeked in through the door. Tsuyoshi glanced between them, his smile widening. "Sorry if I'm interrupting, but Goro, could you help me with something?"  
  
  
"I can't believe they made you sit out!" The rebel who'd befriended Nakai glanced back at him as they headed up from the motorcycle training circuit, hands on his hips. "You guys are the Five Stars! They can't _not_ take you with!"  
  
Nakai managed a weak smile. After seeing what motorcycle combat looked like, he was fairly relieved not to have to take part. "We're not really sure what the Five Stars even _are_."  
  
"D'ya think it was 'cause he was a suit?" The girl with the nose ring walked behind them, wiping sweat from her forehead. "Dunno why they think you'd turn on us, unless we tried to attack your boyfriend." She flashed him a lopsided smile.  
  
His _what_? "I, uh, I don't--" He was turning red, wasn't he.  
  
"Don't worry," the first rebel assured him with a thump on the back. "We'll make sure you get to join in. You must wanna fight the Tower as much as we do, right?"  
  
Nakai pictured a patrol, impassive black armor looming over him. _Was_ there a way to fight them? And it wasn't just patrols, either, they'd be facing the Tower itself, where they watched everything and knew everything, where there would be people like the plain-faced man waiting...  
  
Something cold settled in his chest. Even if he _did_ join the fight, Tsuyoshi couldn't, could he? Nakai would have to go without him, without Tsuyoshi, no, he _couldn't_ fight the Tower without Tsuyoshi, he couldn't do this _alone_ \--  
  
A wonderful, amazing smell cut off his thoughts as they reached the meeting hall. Tsuyoshi was there, with Goro and Kimura, doling out some kind of stew onto plates of rice; Kimura nudged Tsuyoshi as they approached, and the younger man looked up, his expression breaking into a smile.  
  
"Here," he said, holding a plate out carefully. "I want you to try it first."  
  
"What is it?" Nakai took the plate, sniffing it. It was indeed the source of the wonderous smell.  
  
"The most heavenly food ever," Tsuyoshi told him, slipping a spoon onto the plate. " _Curry_."  
  
Nakai scooped up a piece of curry-smothered potato and took a tentative bite. And then another, less tentative bite, followed by another. It was _amazing_ , it was _more_ than amazing, it was _heavenly_ , just as Tsuyoshi had described it. "It's..." He looked at Tsuyoshi, trying to find the right words. There weren't any.  
  
He leaned in and planted a tiny, quick kiss on Tsuyoshi's mouth.  
  
Tsuyoshi flushed pink. Behind him, Kimura and Goro stared-- as well as the rebels who'd accompanied Nakai there.  
  
"I _told_ you," the girl with the nose ring said in a loud whisper, and the others laughed, lining up to receive their own plates. "He'd probably take the Tower out single-handedly if they got between them."  
  
Kimura raised his eyebrows, looking amused. "Guess you two got to _know_ each other, after all." Goro glanced back at him thoughtfully, between doling out portions of curry.  
  
Tsuyoshi edged closer to Nakai, still slightly pink. "You really like it? Goro helped me chop the vegetables."  
  
"I--" Nakai smiled at him, warmth flooding up to replace all the doubt and fear he'd felt moments ago. "I _love_ it."  
  
The infirmary door opened, the medic scrolling distractedly through her touchpad as she hurried out. "--almost forgot with all the prep going on-- oh good, there he is."  
  
Shingo followed behind her, glancing over her shoulder at the data. "--in only three weeks, that's amazing! I never thought of using that formula to stimulate bone growth-- hey, is that _curry_ I smell?"  
  
The medic stopped in front of Tsuyoshi. "Arm feeling okay? No pain recently?"  
  
Tsuyoshi blinked, glancing down at his sling. "No, not at all--"  
  
"Good." The medic ran a cursory glance over Tsuyoshi's arm with the glasses she'd been borrowing from Shingo, and nodded to herself. "Then you don't need _this_ anymore." She undid the sling, deftly unwrapping the bandages and splint from Tsuyoshi's arm.  
  
Tsuyoshi drew a sharp breath as he tried to lift his arm, supporting it with his other hand. "Now, it'll be sore for a while until you get the muscles back into shape," the medic continued, tapping at her touchpad. "But otherwise you should be completely recovered."  
  
Shingo drifted over with a grin, already carrying a plate of curry. "Told you I'd have you fixed up in no time. How's it feel?"  
  
Tsuyoshi stared at his arm, looking overwhelmed at the sudden freedom. "It feels _wonderful_ ," he answered, a smile growing as he flexed his unused fingers with effort. He lifted his gaze to meet Nakai's. "Because now I can finally do _this_."  
  
He threw both arms around Nakai's neck, hugging him tightly as if trying to fill every last bit of space between them, and kissed him.  
  
Nakai was only vaguely aware of someone taking the plate out of his hand, and then his arms were around Tsuyoshi, holding him close, closer than he'd ever been to anyone in his life. If the Tower was watching-- he didn't care, because he had Tsuyoshi. He had something to fight for.  
  
Maybe, he thought, he finally understood what _heavenly_ truly meant.

 

"Tomorrow night."  
  
Mori surveyed the command room, standing before the map spread on the table. Strategies were scrawled across it, revised and crossed out and rewritten again, all spiraling towards the Tower in the center. It looked to Shingo as if the Tower was sucking them in.  
  
"The Tower has taken out all of our bases except one. They are marshalling their forces in an attempt to finally crush us completely." Mori laid one hand on the map. "Our only choice is to strike first, as hard and fast as possible."  
  
Next to Shingo, Tsuyoshi folded his arms tightly, the right supporting the left.  
  
"Reports."  
  
The training captain stepped forward first. "All members have undergone full training. Those who passed have been assigned to squadrons."  
  
"We scavenged twenty more bikes," the squad leader added. "The squadrons have been trained for battle and divided into advance and main teams."  
  
Mori nodded. "We'll send the advance teams to Points A and B after tomorrow's meeting. Lieutenant?"  
  
The lieutenant scrolled through a list, fingernails clicking on the touchpad screen. "We have acquired weapons and armor suitable for the full army, and equipped all new motorcycles with radio communications." Their brow furrowed. "The loss of bases has depleted our fuel stores, and finding new supplies has proven difficult. We have enough to attack, but not to retreat."  
  
"We won't be retreating," Mori replied curtly. "Squad Leader, Lieutenant, the advance teams will be under your command. Captain, you will oversee the ground forces upon arrival. I will direct the main team and the ascent into the Tower."  
  
The second-in-commands nodded, eyes fixed on their commander. Mori turned to Shingo, looking the five of them over.  
  
"You're in my sanctuary, not my service," she said, drawing herself up. "But after tomorrow there might not be much I can do to keep you safe. And some would rather you remain behind for fear of my people's safety, anyway." The lieutenant folded their arms, expression guarded. "So I'm giving you a choice: you can stay and take part, or you can leave freely."  
  
Stay, or leave. Shingo glanced at Kimura and Goro to one side, Tsuyoshi and Nakai to the other. Was _he_ supposed to decide? He wasn't a leader, he just wanted to protect people, to fight back against the Tower the only way he knew how. It was a suicidal mission-- the hardened expressions of Mori's second-in-commands said everything-- but if they left...  
  
"We _are_ in your service," Tsuyoshi said. He held up his pinky, where the triangle of dots still stood out clearly. "Maybe you still don't quite trust us, but we've been trying to help you fight the Tower this whole time. We _are_ your people."  
  
Mori circled the table, slowly advancing on Tsuyoshi until she stood over him, looking down. " _My_ people?"  
  
Tsuyoshi held his chin up. "Yes."  
  
The rebel commander studied him, expression unreadable. "And the rest of you agree?"  
  
Nakai slipped his hand into Tsuyoshi's immediately. "I'll go wherever he does."  
  
Shingo glanced sideways, catching Kimura and Goro's eyes. No, there was no doubt, was there? Tsuyoshi was one of them, their hearts were all intertwined already. He couldn't imagine going anywhere without Tsuyoshi around to lighten the world and make him laugh.  
  
He ruffled Tsuyoshi's hair and settled a hand on his shoulder with a grin. "We're with him, too."  
  
Mori held Tsuyoshi's eye for a moment longer, as if trying to find an answer to some question. Then she nodded briskly and spun about to return to the table. "Very well. Katori, you'll provide medical assistance in the main team tomorrow. See to it you're prepared for a battlefield. The rest of you--" She looked over the other four, lingering once again on Tsuyoshi. "Report to the meeting tomorrow. The captain and squad leader will find places for you then."  
  
The lieutenant frowned, stepping forward. "My commander, is it wise to bring them with? They may--"  
  
Mori cut them off with a wave of her hand. "You heard them. They're _our_ people now. Whatever danger they are-- to us or to _themselves_ \-- it's too late to turn back."  
  
Shingo caught of glimpse of concern-- or maybe it was something stronger, almost painful, even-- before the lieutenant bowed their head and stepped back into place.  
  
Mori returned her gaze to the map, focusing once more on the Tower at the center of everything. "That's my decision. We attack tomorrow night."  
  
  
"Tomorrow night," Tsuyoshi said, as they reached their room. "This is our last night, then."  
  
Kimura glanced back as he opened the door. Tsuyoshi was clutching Nakai's hand tightly, looking at all of them. "We haven't even figured anything out yet-- what the Tower wants with us-- who we're supposed to _be_ \--" He glanced down at the triangle on his pinky. "If you wanted to leave--"  
  
"We're not going anywhere," Kimura told him. It went against all of his instincts for survival-- a tiny, ill-equipped army against far too many unknowns-- but there was a part of him that had woken up now, that wanted to fight whatever it took, that wanted to protect the people it... loved.  
  
Shingo squeezed Tsuyoshi's shoulder, giving him a fond grin. "Yeah, someone's gotta make sure you don't break your arm again, silly."  
  
"And chop vegetables for you." Goro smiled faintly. He reached out to Tsuyoshi's free hand, the lightest touch. "Thank you."  
  
Tsuyoshi blinked rapidly, glancing down as if trying to hide it. Nakai let go of Tsuyoshi's hand, suddenly, and circled his arm around the younger man's waist instead. "Where would I even go? You're the one that rescued _me_ , really."  
  
Tsuyoshi managed a laugh at that, turning to give him a warm look. "Maybe you're right, if you didn't even know what _curry_ was." He lifted a hand to touch Nakai's cheek, expression sobering again. "This-- might be our last night."  
  
Kimura paused as he reached for his bedroll. Our last night. Our last _night_. If he looked at Shingo now, would he-- Kimura quickly unrolled the bedding, keeping his eyes busy.  
  
"Nakai-- do you-- will you--" Tsuyoshi glanced at the rest of them, blushing, and leaned in to whisper, cupping Nakai's ear with one hand. Nakai seemed to take a moment-- and then pink slowly crept onto his cheeks. He looked at Tsuyoshi wide-eyed for a second, and then gave him a tiny nod.  
  
Tsuyoshi broke into a smile, resting his arm around Nakai's shoulders. "Guess we'd better go ask, then."  
  
"You're not being subtle _at all_ ," Shingo told them, giving Tsuyoshi's shoulder a push. "I don't wanna hear about it, okay?" Kimura risked a glance; Shingo was almost as pink as Nakai. Goro watched curiously.  
  
Tsuyoshi grinned back at him. "You can tell me all about _yours_ , then," he said, and hurried off with a now _very_ red Nakai in tow.  
  
It was suddenly quiet. Kimura grabbed another bedroll and laid it out, feeling like his head was buzzing. What now, what now? He'd seen bits and pieces of porn, at the market, in tiny seedy theaters, but he'd never been interested enough-- he'd never _trusted_ anyone enough. Shingo was the one who'd been with people before. Would he expect Kimura to-- and then there was Goro, too--  
  
He nearly jumped as a hand touched his arm. It was Goro, facing him with a mix of uncertainty and determination. "Kimura. Can I kiss you?"  
  
Kimura stared at him. Shingo stood in the doorway behind the dark-haired man, looking like he was trying to hide a smirk. "You want to?"  
  
"Yes," Goro answered, stepping closer, his hands slipping up to Kimura's shoulders. "I want to."  
  
Kimura glanced at Shingo, as if for permission-- a faint nod, _I trust you_ \-- and wrapped his hands around Goro's waist, pulling him in. Goro met him halfway, hesitance falling away into eager, almost desperate heat. Yes-- Goro belonged here, together with them, with _both_ of them-- he stroked his hands up Goro's back, feeling the way the dark-haired man shivered and pressed closer under his touch--  
  
He pushed Goro back slightly. "Is this... okay?"  
  
Shingo stepped forward, the same thought on his face. "You don't have to just because it's--"  
  
Goro slid his arms around Kimura's neck, trying to touch more of him, to push in close again. "I _want_ to," he said, the words tangled in a sharp breath of air.  
  
Kimura caught Shingo's eye, part of him fighting to hold back, part of him fighting not to be overwhelmed. "It might remind you."  
  
"Then give me something else to think about," Goro insisted, fingers twisting the fabric of Kimura's shirt. "Give me something _good_ to think about. I don't have anything left."  
  
Shingo laid a hand on Goro's neck, just above the diamond. The shorter man looked up at him, eyes dark with too many mixed emotions, and Shingo leaned in from the side to kiss him, slow and gentle. "We'll do better than that," he murmured, and then he was pressed against Kimura's side, his other arm slipping around to rest low on Kimura's back. "We'll give you _love_."  
  
Goro's fingers relaxed. "Okay," he breathed, reaching up to brush the tips of Shingo's hair. A faint smile slowly found the corners of his mouth, a little stronger this time, a little more sure. "Okay."  
  
Kimura met Shingo's eyes, filled with everything he didn't know and everything he wanted to know. There was still so much he didn't understand, but--  
  
"I trust you," Goro said, and the words might as well have been his own. Kimura kissed Shingo, and let himself dive headfirst into the unknown.

 

The Tower loomed ahead, dark clouds circling it cold and grey. Everything grew colder and colder as Tsuyoshi ran-- why was he running towards it, he should be running away, they'd never survive what was waiting for them and the Tower would swallow them up and eat them from the inside out until there wasn't even hope left in the dark. It was too soon, too soon, they'd only just found each other again--  
  
It was close now, so close it hurt to look up to the very top. A blank circle. Faceless, constantly shrouded in storm. He kept running.  
  
They couldn't lose, not this time. They had to be ready for the _true_ battle, up, up, up, in the clouds that had been silent until now-- _thunder growling around them as they lost to the darkness within_ \--  
  
Tsuyoshi woke with a start. They had to fight, they had to-- No, it was just a dream. He was here with Nakai, their limbs comfortably tangled, a cocoon of warmth together with only the blankets between them and the rest of the world. He gazed at Nakai's face, sleeping peacefully; they'd found each other again, whatever _again_ meant, and this time they'd do it right. This time, they wouldn't give in, they wouldn't be afraid, they wouldn't be _alone_ \--  
  
Thunder shook the fortress. Tsuyoshi pushed himself up slightly, blinking in the darkness. Thunder?  
  
Again, closer and louder-- Nakai woke this time, his hand shifting on Tsuyoshi's back as he peered up at him. "What was that?"  
  
"It's--" Not thunder, it was-- "The Tower! They're attacking!"  
  
Tsuyoshi threw off the covers, grabbing for their clothes. Nakai tumbled out of bed after him, both of them yanking on whatever they could sort out as shouts began echoing in the halls. Tsuyoshi flung the door open-- "--et to the bikes! Everyone get down to the bikes!"  
  
He threw a glance back at Nakai-- this was it, their last night was over-- but there was no time. He grabbed Nakai's hand and ran.  
  
  
Goro kept pace between Kimura and Shingo, fastening the last of the straps on his uniform as they emerged into the basement. Someone handed him a knife-- they were passing out weapons, armor, whatever they could frantically, the training captain scanning the crowd to estimate numbers. Another explosion shook the far end of the room.  
  
He had been wrapped between them, warm, protected, loved-- of course the Tower would try to take that away. He tucked the knife into his belt, along with the ones already stowed in his sleeve and hidden in his boot. He wasn't going to let anyone take anything from him, not anymore.  
  
Shingo paused as the medic hurried by, a trail of would-be trainees following her with arms full of boxes. "How many did we end up with?"  
  
"Almost two hundred," she called back, tossing one of the newly-made welders to him. "Not enough, but better than nothing. Look after the commander, would you?"  
  
She disappeared into the crowd, heading for the advance teams; Shingo glanced down at the welder with what might have been apprehension, and pocketed it. "Better than nothing," he echoed quietly to himself.  
  
Mori was standing next to a large racing motorcycle, apparently in argument with the lieutenant. They were both in black protective armor, Mori's jacket already zipped tightly over hers with the collar turned up; the lieutenant now wore a long trenchcoat trailing down to their ankles, long nails looking like bared claws against the dark fabric.  
  
"--have to go through with it, we'll be scattered if we let them take this place--"  
  
"My commander--"  
  
Mori cut the lieutenant off as they drew near. "Katori. Any of you know how to ride?"  
  
Kimura nodded affirmative; Shingo looked at the motorcycle doubtfully. "Not something they taught me down there."  
  
"I can," Goro said, to the raised eyebrows of everyone present. It had been standard training at fifteen, taught by memory drive and drilled into his reflexes by simulation. Mori exchanged a glance with the lieutenant.  
  
Tsuyoshi and Nakai came running, still straightening out their clothes as they arrived. "Is everyone okay? Are we going to fight?"  
  
"We're going to _attack_ ," Mori corrected, seeming to come to a decision. "Katori, ride with Inagaki. You," she nodded to Nakai, "with Kimura." She turned to Tsuyoshi. "You, ride with me. You'll be safest that way."  
  
The lieutenant grabbed Mori's shoulder. "My commander! What about _your_ safety? The man cannot even--"  
  
"I need you to lead your team, Lieutenant." Mori picked her helmet up, swinging one leg over the motorcycle. "There's more than just _my_ life at stake if we lose this battle."  
  
The lieutenant clung to Mori's shoulder a moment longer-- then hardened their expression, pressing their hand to their chest. "My commander."  
  
Motorcycles were being wheeled into place, lining up into ranks around Mori. Goro climbed onto the nearest, running his hands over the controls-- battle tactics returning to him like a dormant memory-- and then everything in the room was thrumming to life, Shingo was climbing on behind him and someone was handing Nakai a crowbar and more rebels were grabbing on to whatever handholds they could find, weapons hanging loose at the ready.  
  
The explosions drew closer, like a storm. Mori raised one hand in the air, fingers spread wide.  
  
_"This is your commander! Hear me as the Tower tries to destroy our very home!"_  
  
The lights flickered. Mori stood her ground.  
  
_"They have come to strike us down, to crush us as they did our loved ones. But tonight, we will strike back-- we will attack the very foundations on which they lie, the Tower itself!"_  
  
Cheering. This was it, he was going to fight them, defy them openly and for all to see-- Shingo's arm circled his waist, warm even through the sleeve of his coat. Not just fight. Protect.  
  
_"Let us ride to victory, and show the Tower that they cannot destroy us!"_  
  
Mori brought her hand down to the three dots on her chest. They lit up, glowing electric white, answered by the dots painted on the fingernails of every rebel present-- and on the back of Mori's jacket, once invisible against the black of leather, the swirling character of three trees in a triangle, joined together in bright luminescence-- _Mori._  
  
The lights flickered out, but the glow remained, lighting up the dark like a sea of stars underground.  
  
_"Forward!"_  
  
  
They roared up through the tunnels, emerging into city-lit night. Rain whipped through Kimura's hair, the exhilaration of wind waking every inch of him from the claustrophobic halls of the rebel fortress. He risked a glance back, flicking his earring to night vision-- they'd emerged from deep beneath the wasteland of flattened debris that lined the wall, the entrances disguised between the haphazard makeshift buildings at the far edge of the outer districts. The rebels had hidden in the very place the Tower had forbidden the most.  
  
Another explosion rocked the debris, shrapnel flying overhead. Kimura ducked low over the handlebars, Nakai clutching his waist tightly, and swerved through the buildings towards the center of the city. The rebels who'd grabbed on to his bike were clinging for dear life, but they had to get to the Tower, there was no going slow now--  
  
A patrol loomed out of the darkness, hands sharpened into claws. Kimura veered hard under one swinging arm-- sparks flew up in a horrible screech of metal-- and they sailed free, Nakai staring at the lines etched into his crowbar.  
  
Through the tangled streets to a broader road-- there was Goro, Shingo emerging from a gap in the buildings-- and then back into the forest of outer dwellings. There was fighting ahead, clashing of wet metal, rebels leaping from bikes onto the back of another patrol-- onward, onward, no time to stop. From the farthest outer district to the next ring in, once proper buildings though crumbling and rundown, the roads open and clear and all the more dangerous.  
  
Bright spotlights shot down from above, trying to pin them down, voices yelling something over the rush of wind and rain. Silencers, patrolling the skies in force-- Nakai buried his face in Kimura's back, clinging to the crowbar tightly, as if not looking up might keep them from spotting him.  
  
There-- ahead-- the clear line where the roofs became clean and orderly-- an explosion rocked the road ahead, sending motorcycles tumbling. Kimura swerved down a side street, catching a glimpse of glowing motorcycle jacket between buildings. Mori was moving ahead, aiming for the inner ring.  
  
The road opened up again, rain coming down in earnest. Another explosion, somewhere behind-- Kimura accelerated, they were almost to the inner district but the rebels hanging on were slowing them down--  
  
The Tower emerged out of the darkness in the distance, black against the black of night. All around them, lines snapped into order, clean sharp angles like rows of teeth. They'd breached the inner ring.  
  
Ahead, in neat, silent ranks, the Tower's army waited for them.

 

They collided with the Tower's soldiers in a frenzy of rain-soaked battle. Shingo clung to Goro's waist as they swerved in sharp turns left and right, dodging patrols, elites, low-level grunts. The rebels who had ridden with them leaped off or were torn away, fighting desperately to clear the path for more to follow. Barely-trained street people versus the Tower's defenses-- Shingo didn't dare glance back to see the odds.  
  
A patrol swiped at them, claws singing-- how on earth were _they_ going to survive this?-- and then another motorcycle intercepted, the back rider swinging a club at the patrol's arm. Right, he had the pipe someone had handed him, forgotten in the flight across the city.  
  
"Aim for the joints!" Goro called back through the wind. He gunned towards a patrol slashing at another motorcycle, its arm rising into the air-- Shingo swung as hard as he could, feeling it connect with the patrol's elbow with the added force of Goro's driving. He nearly dropped the pipe, his bones rattling, but a glance back told him the hit had done damage, sparks short circuiting from the patrol's elbow. Right, he could do that--  
  
Several patrols charged them at once, a wall of barrelling armor. Goro swerved hard, trying to finding an opening to slip through-- they collided with the farthest one, skidding to a stop-- a hand tried to drag Shingo from the bike, and he raised the pipe to come face-to-face with an elite, a cold, emotionless face but still a human one just like Goro's--  
  
Goro grabbed the man's wrist and _twisted_ , a horrible snapping sound that made the elite hiss in pain. The man lashed a knife at him with his other hand, but Goro knocked it aside, catching the man's collar and bringing his neck down into his bent knee. The elite slumped, winded, and Goro wrested the knife from his hand-- the patrol they'd crashed into had grabbed the front of the motorcycle, crushing the headlight. Goro leaped from the seat onto the patrol's head, driving the knife repeatedly into the seam where the neck met the body-- sparks flew, lighting Goro's face, his expression seemingly flat for an instant--  
  
"Goro!" Shingo swung the pipe at the patrol's arm, knocking its grip loose from the bike. "The Tower!" They had to keep moving, they couldn't let the Tower stop them here. Ahead, he could see the light of Mori's jacket pushing through the battlefield, trying to clear a path.  
  
Goro slid down from the patrol, dodging its massive arms to grab the handlebars of the bike and twist back onto the seat. Shingo dodged a blow from a thug, swinging blindly as Goro revved the engine and shoved off from the asphalt. They had to get through-- but there were so many, rebels were falling left and right, comrades rushing to the rescue with the medical welders when they could-- they'd be eaten alive if they stopped to fight now--  
  
A roar of engines came from ahead, beyond the wave of Tower soldiers, and from the dark emerged a sea of lights-- the other teams had maneuvered around the main force to strike from behind. They smashed into the far end of the wave, breaking a path through towards their commander. Now, now was their chance-- Shingo held on as Goro weaved through the battle, pushing forward to meet the incoming team. Kimura and Nakai swerved out of the crowd alongside them-- Shingo flashed as reassuring a smile as he could to Nakai, who was wide-eyed and clinging to his crowbar with a death grip-- and then they were in the circle fighting together with Mori, the lieutenant and the squad leader now protecting her on either side with nails aglow.  
  
"Keep moving!" Mori shouted. She swung a heavy club ruthlessly with one hand, stained from the fight so far. Behind her, Tsuyoshi clung to the jacket, eyes shut tightly as if in pain.  
  
The path was opening up, the Tower drawing nearer-- if they could just shake the soldiers trying to hold them back, the road beyond was clear, they could make it, they could win this fight and show the Tower that this was _their_ city, theirs to fight for, theirs to protect--  
  
And then light flooded the road, cold, blinding light that drowned even Mori's jacket in its gaze. The ever-watching spotlight of the Tower was upon them.  
  
  
The crowbar slipped from Nakai's hands, clattering to the wet pavement. The Tower-- the Tower _knew_ , it was going to punish him and take everything away again--  
  
_You're not right, the other boy said, wrinkling his nose. I bet you're a traitor, too, just like your_ parents _\-- Nakai lunged at him, anger finally too much to hold back._  
  
Around him, rebels hesitated, some cut down where they stood, some turning to run-- Shingo looked on in horror as if paralyzed, Goro had bent over the handlebars, clutching his head--  
  
_He watched from the front step as the grey van pulled away. The Tower will find a new place for you, the official said, locking the empty house behind him. But there is one more thing we must attend to._  
  
\--and in front of him, Kimura snarled in anger, ripping a club away from a rebel and swinging it with sharp, merciless violence--  
  
_He threw the knife away from himself, staring at the line of red across his throat. Do you understand?_  
  
Yes. They were going to take them away, Shingo and Kimura and Goro and Tsuyoshi-- no, he couldn't let them take _Tsuyoshi_ , he wouldn't let them-- he had to protect Tsuyoshi--  
  
Nakai grabbed Kimura's jacket, blinking to clear his eyes in the blinding light. The rain had stopped, as if burned away by the spotlight. They'd gotten separated from Mori, the commander still battling her way through even though it would only be suicide to reach the Tower now. As if she couldn't see anything but her goal anymore, as if the Tower _wanted_ her to reach it-- Nakai yanked hard on the jacket, trying to get Kimura's attention. "We have to stop Mori!"  
  
Kimura seemed to snap back to his senses, throwing the club aside and taking the handlebars. He pulled alongside Goro and Shingo-- Shingo had dismounted, fumbling desperately with a welder on his knees next to a dying rebel. "I have save him-- I have to save everyone--"  
  
"Shingo!" Kimura reached over, trying to grab the younger man's shoulder. "Come on!"  
  
Shingo dropped the welder, pressing shaking hands to the rebel's wounds in the wash of light. "No, I can't lose anyone else-- I can't let any more people _die_ \--"  
  
Kimura slid from the motorcycle and caught Shingo under his arms, hauling him up. "You can't save everyone." He twisted the younger man around to face him. "You saved _me_ , remember? You were there for me-- you've been there for _all_ of us."  
  
Shingo squinted blindly at him for a second, as if still seeing some internal memory, and then gripped Kimura's arm tightly. "The spotlight-- it's like it's trying to--"  
  
"We have to get to Mori." Nakai pulled at Goro's sleeve urgently. The dark-haired man was still crumpled over, clutching-- almost _clawing_ \-- at his head. "Goro, please, I think the Tower _wants_ her to reach it-- and _Tsuyoshi's_ with her, if the Tower gets them--"  
  
"No!" Goro lifted his head suddenly, eyes wild and unseeing. "You can't make me go back. I won't-- I _won't_ \--" A flicker of metal flashed in his hand and he lashed out wildly. Nakai dodged the blow instinctually, grabbing Goro's arm; Shingo and Kimura lunged forward to restrain him, but before they could Nakai had pinned Goro's wrist down, trying to wrest the knife from his fingers. "Goro! It's me! It's Nakai!"  
  
Goro let go abruptly, clutching at his face with his free hand. Nakai dropped the knife quickly, feeling light-headed as the sudden rush of adrenaline faded. He made a mental note to thank Kimura for all his training if they survived this.  
  
"I can't go back." Goro's voice was suddenly thin, unsteady. Where the light struck him he appeared a pale, almost deathly white, as if it was trying to wash out what life still remained in him. "They hurt me."  
  
Nakai hesitated-- would Goro listen to him?-- and then reached out his hand to the man's shoulder. "They hurt me, too." The battlefield seemed loud in his ears, cries of anger and fear as the spotlight flooded over patrols and motorcycles alike. "But I have to fight them. I have things I have to protect, now." Goro opened his eyes, focusing on Nakai. "I can't run anymore."  
  
Goro groped for a handful of Nakai's sleeve, clinging tightly and holding his gaze for a moment-- _our duty to make up for what we've been_ \-- and then looked beyond him, squinting against the light to scan the crowd. "Tsuyoshi-- where are they--"  
  
Kimura rested his hand for a second on Goro's neck before climbing onto his motorcycle again. "Ahead, almost breaking through the end." Shingo wrapped his arms around Goro's waist, briefly resting his chin warmly on the older man's shoulder. "C'mon, we gotta go rescue them!"  
  
Nakai swung on behind Kimura and they took off, chasing after the distant figure of the rebel commander. She'd slowed down a bit-- he could make out the sillouette of Tsuyoshi behind her, trying to say something to her-- but even as they fought their way closer, Mori broke through the edge of the battle and gunned forward towards the Tower. The street beyond was clear, too clear, the Tower was going to swallow them whole--  
  
Another motorcycle tore away from the crowd, one single rider bent low over the handlebars. It was the lieutenant, aiming for Mori with single-minded determination, pushing the engine to its limit to catch up. They shouted something as they drew closer, Mori glancing back, Tsuyoshi glancing _up_ \-- and Nakai realized, through the blinding spotlight, that the sky ahead was full of silencers.  
  
The four of them broke away from the battle-- the lieutenant swerved into Mori's motorcycle, sending both of them tumbling-- and street beyond exploded.  
  
  
Nakai opened his eyes to darkness-- no, it was only the night, they'd been thrown from the reach of the spotlight, safe for moment in the dark and the smoke still swirling in the sky. He raised his head cautiously, squinting to clear his vision. Kimura was pushing himself up, glancing around wildly. "Shingo-- Goro--"  
  
A chunk of rubble shifted, white-blond hair peeking out from under. Shingo grunted, straining under the weight-- Goro was beneath him, still unconscious. Kimura crawled over, levering the debris back with his shoulder. "Goro!"  
  
Goro cracked his eyes open, squinting up at Shingo. "--saved _me_ this time," he mumbled. Shingo grinned painfully, sitting up as Kimura shifted the rubble aside.  
  
Nakai pushed himself up, peering out towards where Mori and Tsuyoshi had been. The street was a crater of broken pavement, the spotlight and the hovering silencers momentarily muffled by smoke and dust. Tsuyoshi, where was Tsuyoshi, he couldn't have been too close, he had to have survived--  
  
Under the muted light and smoke, the debris moved-- Mori, her jacket dark again, shoving pieces of pavement aside and pulling someone out-- Nakai started forward without thinking, stumbling through the debris. Tsuyoshi, Tsuyoshi was alive.  
  
The smoke swirled, the soft sound of a silencer drawing close overhead. They had to get out of there-- they'd be caught for sure once the sky cleared. As if to read his mind, one shaft of light from the spotlight slipped through, then another, dancing across the debris with a cold glitter that had no right to be beautiful. Mori threw her arm under Tsuyoshi's shoulders, supporting him as they staggered towards Nakai-- Nakai heard Kimura give a shout of warning--  
  
\--and twenty silencers burst down through the smoke. Arms caught Nakai around the chest-- Kimura, pulling him down-- Mori and Tsuyoshi ducked behind a chunk of pavement, so close and yet trapped so many feet away, if they moved they'd be seen but if they didn't run _now_ \--  
  
Tsuyoshi lifted his head, taking in the silencers, the dissipating cover, the light of the Tower growing stronger once again-- and caught Nakai's gaze across the space between them.  
  
"Not yet," he murmured, and gave Nakai a warm smile.  
  
And then he pushed himself up and began to run, through the broken street and circling silencers, _towards_ the Tower. "Hey! Over here!" He waved both arms over his head, the searchlights of the silencers drifting toward him hungrily.  
  
"No!" Nakai lunged forward, trying to break free from Kimura's arms. He ducked his head and bit the closest one-- Kimura hissed in pain, but didn't let go, why wouldn't he let Nakai go, he had to rescue Tsuyoshi, he couldn't _live_ without Tsuyoshi there with him--  
  
A figure in a long cloak and goggles seemed to melt out of the debris next to them. "Quickly, you must come with us. There is only one safe place for you now."  
  
Nakai struggled, trying to fight-- he couldn't let them take Tsuyoshi away, he'd _promised_ to protect him this time-- and then there was a tightness around his neck and the world seemed to drop away.  
  
The last thing he saw was the distant sillouette of Tsuyoshi against the descending silencers, running as hard as he could towards the Tower.


	3. Chapter 3

_"Sit," the plain-faced man said, gesturing to the chair. Nakai obeyed, lifting his eyes to stare numbly at his own reflection.  
  
The man stood behind him, settling his hands lightly on Nakai's shoulders. "Do not worry. I am not here to punish you any further." His voice was calm, gentle. "By now I am sure you have seen the consequences of your actions."  
  
Nakai nodded once, wordlessly.  
  
"Good." The man patted his shoulders. "But there is one last thing you must understand."  
  
Something flickered in the man's hand, and before Nakai could draw breath, a knife blade was pressed against his throat. The man smiled at him in the mirror.  
  
"Close your eyes."  
  
Nakai did so, swallowing as he felt the blade press a little harder.  
  
"Perhaps you think we are cruel," the man's voice said, above him. "That we are cold and sharp and deadly, like a knife."  
  
His parents-- he shoved the image away.  
  
"Perhaps you still think you are not responsible for your actions, and the consequences they have brought."  
  
The knife bit into his skin. Nakai held as still as possible, struggling to breathe.  
  
"But if we are the knife," the man murmured. "Then we are not the ones holding it."  
  
Nakai choked against the blade as it bit deeper-- he was going to die, they were going to kill him after all--  
  
"Open your eyes."  
  
He opened his eyes again and looked in the mirror, at the hand holding the knife to his throat. The plain-faced man was nowhere to be seen.  
  
The hand holding the knife was his own._  
  
  
Nakai woke to the sensation of being carried-- he was draped on Kimura's back, arms dangling limply over the taller man's shoulders. They were in some kind of dim tunnel; he could just barely make out Shingo and Goro ahead, the dark-haired man limping slightly as he leaned on the doctor. Where were they? Where was--  
  
He tightened his arms, hiding his face in Kimura's shoulder. He'd failed. He hadn't protected Tsuyoshi, he hadn't been able to do anything but watch as the Tower took him away. He was responsible, just like before.  
  
Kimura glanced sideways at the movement, but wordlessly continued to carry him.  
  
Light spilled into the passageway as someone ahead opened a door and gestured them through. It led into a wide cavern, descending several stories from where they stood, with seemingly hundreds of rooms and passages carved into the walls; lamps and lanterns of every type hung from above or were strung across the space, illuminating in mismatched hues a complex web of suspended bridges and platforms spiraling through the center of the cavern. Even the people hurrying back and forth seemed to be dressed in whatever they pleased, not the dull street-worn rags of the Outer districts or the dusty military hues of the rebels but bright, clean colors of every pattern and style. Nakai was immediately reminded of the bedroom back at Shingo's place.  
  
Then he glanced up, and slid from Kimura's back; the ceiling was muraled with a sweeping blue sky, half day and half night, clouds and stars alike circling a sprawling golden sun.  
  
Kimura stopped, too, following his gaze. "Did Shingo...?"  
  
The younger man turned back, but seemed to avoid looking up. "Welcome to the underground," he said softly, giving them a weak smile.  
  
Their guide led them along the spiral to a platform suspended halfway down, where several tables were pushed together and covered with maps and stacks of old books. An elderly woman in colorful layered skirts was in discussion with several advisors, peering over various documents through several overlapping lens folded down over one eye; she nodded to the advisors and hurried over, her expression concerned but warm as she clasped Shingo's hands. "Katori. I saw you were in danger-- but I fear my sight may not have come soon enough."  
  
Shingo shook his head. "Madame. No, he saved us-- he ran so that we could--" His voice wavered, and then he suddenly embraced Madame in a tight hug. "I'm sorry, it's my fault, I lost him-- again--"  
  
The leader of the underground returned the hug, rubbing Shingo's back. "Nonsense, my dear. Nothing has been your fault, then or now." She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Now, have a seat, all of you, so that we may catch up what has been going on--"  
  
"You!" Mori pushed her way forward from behind Nakai, trailing a handful of fellow rescued rebels. " _You're_ the one behind this, aren't you-- putting your pawns in our hands so that the Tower would drive us to _you_ \--"  
  
"Mori." Madame held up a hand before Shingo could step between them. "It is a pleasure to see you again as well. Please have a seat; we are still attempting to rescue as many as we can, while the night lasts, and there is much for us to discuss. If what I have heard is true, then I fear this may be the only safe place for you now."  
  
Mori glanced back at the handful of rebels who had been rescued with them; they looked to her uncertainly, many having only just survived their first real battle. She crossed her arms and stepped past Madame towards the table, looking down at a map spread there. "You know all our bases have fallen, then."  
  
Nakai sat numbly on the brightly-cushioned chair, the sound of ringing metal and exploding pavement still echoing in his ears. Goro took a seat next to him, favoring one foot; he looked at Nakai as though he wanted to say something but couldn't quite form the right words. There wasn't anything to say, Nakai thought. The world had seemed _right_ , for once. But that had been nothing but an illusion.  
  
"I had heard reports over the channel, and from our own sentinels." Madame gave the advisors another nod, folding the layered spectacles back over her greying hair where they resembled strange hair ornaments. The advisors returned to rummaging through the documents on the table, some trotting off across bridges to other parts of the cavern. "But I confess the exact nature of what they were hunting was unclear to me."  
  
"The Five Stars candidates," Mori said, eyeing the advisors warily. "I took them in when the Tower attacked Katori's place. They've been searching for them since, to the point of weeding out every last hideout we had."  
  
Madame stepped towards the edge of the platform as a tray, laden with a teapot and a dozen small cups, came wheeling across the cavern suspended from wires. She poured tea into the waiting cups, steam rising in the cool underground air. "Indeed. The Tower has made that much clear. But it is what the candidates _are_ that has remained a mystery."  
  
"We'd like to know that ourselves." Shingo turned Goro's chair, crouching to inspect his foot. "Why do they want _us_? The only thing that really links us is--"  
  
"Our memories," Goro finished, watching Shingo's hands. "The ones that don't belong to us."  
  
"Memories?" Mori raised an eyebrow. "You didn't mention anything about _that_."  
  
"You already thought _I_ was crazy," Goro muttered. "Maybe we all are."  
  
"You have memories of being someone else?" Madame replaced the teapot, her gaze flicking over each of them as she passed out the cups of tea. "All _five_ of you?"  
  
Shingo glanced up at Kimura, fishing a roll of bandaging from one of his pockets. "We don't really know _what_ they are. Just that we remember something... before." The older man nodded, taking the extra bandaging as Shingo tore off a strip. "Like we know each other already."  
  
"Tsuyoshi thought they were our past lives," Nakai murmured, looking down at the teacup he'd been given. It was surreal to be sitting here drinking tea when a battle still raged on overhead, when Tsuyoshi was-- was--  
  
"The fifth of you, yes?" Madame smiled gently at him, as if she could guess his thoughts. "It is reported that he was taken alive. Most likely, they will use him to try to lure the rest of you out as well." She took a cup for herself, her eyes seeming to flicker grey through the rising steam. "It seems they have been ahead of us all along. They have had the advantage of knowing what to look for, after all. But at last I believe the pieces are falling into place, and it is finally clear what it is the Tower fears most."  
  
"You know why the Tower is after us?" Kimura tore a strip of bandage off as well, tugging Nakai's sleeve back to reveal a shallow cut. Nakai hadn't even noticed; he was only vaguely aware that it hurt now that he saw it, as though it was at a great distance from him.  
  
"I have a guess. Or perhaps you might call it, a deduction." Madame carefully placed the teacup on a stack of books and extended her arm before them, palm open. "But to explain, I will not mince words; I believe it will be easier simply to show you." She drew her fingers together and spread them again-- and from the tips grew a transparent sphere of light, faint patterns of lines tracing across the surface like a bubble. It glowed from within, images flickering hazily into life.  
  
"We must start," Madame said, as strangely familiar faces rose up inside the sphere, "from where everything first began."  
  
  
_They led their army, thousands strong, towards the Tower ahead; dark clouds wreathed the top menacingly, but they knew what awaited them, it was only a man, powerful in words but in truth easy to overthrow. They would take back their city, and restore it to the bright days they had once known.  
  
The oldest of them paused, placing her hand on Madame's shoulder. "We will entrust the command to you once we reach the top. If all goes well, he will surrender without a fight."  
  
"And even if he doesn't, we'll make him," the man next to her said, smiling gently. "We want as little violence as possible."  
  
The oldest smiled back at him, reaching out as if to touch his arm. She stopped, her smile fading, and turned back to face the Tower. "Yes. We owe our people leaders who are there for _ them _."  
  
The gentle one's eyes followed her, but Madame was turning away as well, there were more important things at hand--  
  
\--The top floor was close, only a flight of stairs away. The clouds pressed in around the Tower as if to block all exit, casting the room in shades of grey; they seemed to Madame to almost have a life of their own, now still, now stirring, waiting for the climactic finale.  
  
The second-in-command paced impatiently at the bottom of the stairs, ignoring the cuts on her arms and face. "We're wasting time."  
  
"We don't know what he'll try," the youngest replied, following her with a roll of bandaging. "We have to be prepared-- here, if you'd just let me--" She tore off a piece, catching the older woman's wrist. The other paused, staring at her, something uncertain in her gaze.  
  
"It's like it's watching us." Madame turned; the last of them, dark and quiet, stood at a window. He motioned at the clouds rolling past, wisps of dark grey seeming to catch at the glass behind the reflected light of the room within. "Looking for weaknesses."  
  
"It's just a storm," Madame assured him, but when she glanced over the man was focused on the reflection instead, where the two women stood behind them. The younger one looked up, meeting the other's gaze, her expression suddenly full of longing, raw and desperate in the face of what might come--  
  
The older one pulled her arm away, taking the bandage. "I'll do it myself."  
  
Dim against the clouds beyond, the man's reflection smiled faintly, and then the others approached, it was time, the five of them would finally bring the battle to an end--  
  
But as Madame watched them climb the stairs, she wondered if they were truly prepared after all._

They stared at the sphere, the image of themselves-- not the same, but somehow still _them_ \-- fading to transparent light once again. Madame relaxed her fingertips, the sphere shrinking slightly. "I do not know what they faced after that, nor what became of the old ruler, but all accounts-- the thousands who still fought for their city outside-- reported five streaks of light leaving the Tower, bursting out of the storm like stars falling across the sky."  
  
A dot of light trailed across the surface of the sphere. Madame's eyes followed it, growing hard as a new image flickered faintly to life within.  
  
"They did not die, as the Tower now claims-- but the five who reemerged from that room were not the people I knew." The oldest approaching, her expression blank-- then Madame was staggering through the battle outside, clutching her arm-- "They took command of the Tower, and put down their own rebellion as harshly as though they had lost all memory of who they had been-- as if they were the Tower themselves."  
  
The sphere abruptly went dark. Madame closed her fingers, extinguishing it.  
  
"The Leaders," Goro murmured. "They killed him, and became the new Leaders." A blank circle, faces hidden from all but a carefully chosen few...  
  
"And almost immediately, they began searching for five so-called candidates," Madame continued. "Five whom only they themselves might recognize."  
  
_\--the ruler of the city smiled at them, teeth bared in the dark. Who will follow you, you who cannot even face each other, who cannot even face yourselves--_  
  
Goro watched as Kimura's hand found Shingo's shoulder, curling tightly. He'd wanted to take her hand, to stand between them, he'd smiled in spite at their confusion though he'd long given up hope that she would ever look his way--  
  
_\--and as darkness found its way in they realized their mistake, they had forsaken what they needed most, more than anger or vengeance they needed-- but it was too late now, there was no escape-- unless-- unless--_  
  
"We fled." The words rose up from somewhere inside Goro, memories piecing together. "We couldn't fight it, so we escaped the only way we could." _Letting go of everything they were to become only their memories that seemed to burn as if they were turning to light--_ "And found others to remember for us."  
  
"To feel for us-- for them," Shingo murmured, touching Kimura's hand. Goro still felt that twinge of resentment-- but it was another person, another self tangled with all of his own. Which one was it, he wondered, that also wanted to take Shingo's hand? "Is that why we knew each other-- why it felt so _right_?"  
  
The cup slipped from Nakai's hands, tea spilling across the map in front of him. He looked stricken, and stood quickly, trying to blot it with his sleeve. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry--" Someone hurried over with a handkerchief, making short work of the mess, and when Nakai sat down again his expression was carefully blank once more.  
  
"You carry the hearts of the Five Stars." Madame spread her hands wide, encompassing the four of them. "Somehow or other, they found their way to you, so that you might carry out what they left unfinished. You are what the Tower fears most-- and what has given us hope in the darkness for so long."  
  
The advisors paused in their work, whispering to each other in tones curious and incredulous and reverant-- _That's them?-- --They've finally come-- --Just like in the story--_ Mori still looked doubtful, her tea untouched.  
  
Shingo tied off Goro's bandage and stood, pushing himself up heavily. He swayed slightly, steadied by Kimura's hand as he took the weight of leadership once again. It didn't suit him, Goro thought distantly, but they had no choice, it had been made for them by the past for the sake of the future. "What must we do?"  
  
Madame smiled gently. "They may have been ahead of us, but we have been searching for you as well. Your friend may just have bought us enough time to make our move." She nodded to the advisors, who hurried off across bridges and down ladders to various parts of the cavern. "Come. Let us repay him the favor."  
  
  
Shingo trotted alongside Madame as she led them down the spiral, memories resurfacing at every familiar sight. Older memories-- or rather, the other _self_ he carried-- were still trying to push their way forward as well, conflicting timelines overlapping in his head that made it difficult to think. Maybe that was how Goro had felt, at first.  
  
"We must contact the channel," Madame said, sweeping her skirts up with one hand as she walked. "They will be able to spread the message across the city the fastest."  
  
"The channel?" Shingo frowned, watching Kimura finger his second earring on the other side of Madame. "But no one knows where they are. Whatever they're using's too hard to trace, even the Tower hasn't bothered."  
  
"They bothered," Goro corrected from behind them. "But it's radio signal with some kind of relay setup transmitting towards the walls around the city. Reflects everywhere and makes it impossible to triangulate."  
  
"However, there are those who know where they are." Madame paused as a man rushed over from one of the levels, waving what appeared to be a list of some kind; she flipped one of her spectacles forward, peering at the document, and nodded her approval before continuing on. "I trust you know of the market?"  
  
Shingo and Kimura nodded. "Good. There is a particular merchant you must seek out-- he is nearly as old as I am, though he chose to spend those years above rather than below. He will know where to find the origin of the channel." Madame led them across a swaying wood bridge towards a row of curtained doorways. "Though he may take some persuading."  
  
"And if we do find them?" Shingo vaguely recognized the doorways, though he hadn't spent much time on this level. "What's the message we want to broadcast?"  
  
"We must tell the city that the Five Stars have returned." Madame paused by a doorway. "They will know the story-- it was the best we could do to give hope to those who could not escape, I'm afraid. But it may give them reason to stand up and fight again."  
  
"The children's story?" Mori was listening intently, arms folded in a guarded pose. " _You_ wrote it?"  
  
Madame smiled, her eyes glinting grey again. "It has become somewhat fictionalized over so many retellings, but the heart of it is still the same as what I saw. The five who turned to light have returned to finish the battle." She swept aside the curtain. "And we must be ready to join them."  
  
The room beyond was an explosion of wires and cables, black cords covering the walls, floor, ceiling, strung across the room and stacked in coils until there was nearly no open space left to stand. In the midst of the mess the glow of several monitors illuminated a single figure, nested amongst the cords, concentrating intently on the screens before her. Madame carefully stepped across the wires, brushing a hanging bundle out of the way like a second curtain; the woman snapped her head up, then relaxed, though still with a look of distant concentration. "Madame. I've almost finished going through the drives. Nothing new on the project so far."  
  
She glanced at a monitor to the side, and Shingo realized with a start that several cords led straight into the back of her neck. Goro made a sharp noise, stepping back.  
  
"Just as well, my dear, it seems the candidates have come to us." Madame gestured to the four of them. "I believe you know their faces already."  
  
The woman blinked at them, recognition suddenly dawning. "The candidates--" She almost made as if to stand in excitement, but caught herself. "I've been searching for you for forever! We only just figured out who the Tower was looking for, it's been such a pain getting this drive reader working and figuring out how to deencrypt everything--" She lifted a hand to fiddle with a cord in her neck, revealing wires extending from each knuckle as well.  
  
"Drive reader?" Shingo followed the cables in the woman's neck to where they ended; the familiar shape of one of the Tower's memory sticks lay embedded in a makeshift reader. "You can read the Tower's data?"  
  
"More or less. Not as well as someone built for it, though." The woman focused on Goro with intense curiosity. "You're the one who worked for them, right? Can I-- can I see?"  
  
Goro glanced at Shingo and Kimura, looking apprehensive, but obligingly stepped forward and bent his neck.  The woman peered at the diamond in fascination, reaching up with one wired hand as though she wanted to touch it but thought the better of it. "Amazing, really," she murmured. "A perfect blend of mind and technology. Must've been someone brilliant who figured it out."  
  
"You've done quite well yourself, dear, more than enough to put us on the right track." Madame patted a nearby stack of cables in lieu of being able to reach the younger woman beyond the mess. "And now it is time for us to finally start moving. I trust you are ready?"  
  
The woman's eyes widened, and she drew her hand away. "You mean-- they really _are_ the Five Stars? They're going to fight, just like before?"  
  
" _We're_ going to fight," Madame corrected. "But this time, with your help, we will do it from the inside as well." She turned to the four of them, and now she appeared less the the genial grandmother Shingo had always known and more the general who'd fought alongside the Five Stars, all those years ago. She must have been planning all along, he realized-- but why hadn't she told him anything, when he'd left? Or for that matter-- "One of you must pose as a Tower worker receiving promotion to level 10, which will give you access to the Tower. We can break into their system--" She nodded at the younger woman. "--and arrange the interview, though we cannot do more without drawing suspicion. Once inside, you will need to find the fifth of you, and a way to let the rest of us in."  
  
Kimura looked sideways at Goro. "Think you could handle that?"  
  
Goro smiled faintly as he straightened, tracing a finger over the diamond. "I think they'd recognize me with or without the promotion."  
  
"And Kimura and I'd stand out too much," Shingo added, scrubbing at his white-blonde hair. Kimura glanced down at the scars on his arms and nodded.  
  
"I'll do it." They looked back at Nakai, who had been quiet since spilling his tea. He swallowed visibly, pale in the dim light. "I have to rescue Tsuyoshi."  
  
He looked small and alone, standing there, and the enormity of the plan suddenly washed over Shingo. They'd only just barely survived one confrontation-- and now they had to rally an entire city, infiltrate the Tower itself, and somehow find a way to win the battle with memories that weren't even theirs--  
  
"We will provide distraction from the outside, of course," Madame said, giving Nakai a warm smile and turning to guide them back towards the cavern. "But before that--"  
  
Mori stepped forward, blocking her way. "Before that, _I'd_ like an explanation." Her voice was low, deadly calm, a dam being held back but only just. "Of why you lied to me all this time."

 

"You've been planning something, all this time." The rebel commander had crossed her arms, raising herself to her full height. "And yet you told me _nothing_."  
  
Kimura saw Shingo tense out of the corner of his eye, ready to leap to the defense. Madame held a hand up, the sharp look she'd worn as she elaborated her plans softening around the edges. "Mori, dear child. I tried to tell you what I could, at the time. But..."  
  
"I came to you for _help_ ," Mori snapped, fingers biting into her own arms. "I thought that the great general who fought alongside the Five Stars, the wise seer who led her people to safety, would at least have some kind of _advice_. But instead you told me there was nothing you could do, that all we could do was _wait_." She jerked her head sharply at the cables surrounding them. "Is this what you meant by _nothing_?"  
  
Madame sighed, seeming to gain years around her eyes. "I told you the story--"  
  
"I knew the story by heart!" Mori's hands flew to her sides, clenching into fists. "Why do you think I started fighting in the first place? But a _story_ didn't keep patrols out of our streets, or silencers out of our skies, or elites from coming to _murder_ us in our _sleep_ \--"  
  
"It was _because_ you were fighting them that I could not say more!" Madame grasped Mori's arms, looking up into her face. "Every battle you faced them in, they poisoned you just a little more. Have you not noticed that what the Tower is most interested in is not loyalty but _fear_?"  
  
" _Fear_?" Mori shook her head. "I'm hardly _afraid_ of--"  
  
"There are many who turn it to anger instead," Madame said sharply. "But it is no less dangerous in any shape."  
  
"The spotlight," Shingo murmured, half to himself. Something in Kimura shifted uneasily. He'd felt that same wash of fear in the blinding light, fear that made him forget everything and lash out to protect himself so he wouldn't lose, he wouldn't _die..._  
  
The knuckles on Mori's fists grew white. "So that's it, then. You didn't trust me."  
  
"You are ruled by fear even now." Madame held Mori's arms still, her expression stern. "The more you have fought the Tower, the more you have grown suspicious, the more you have let it make your decisions for you. You must not let them take your ability to trust, your ability to--"  
  
"To _love_?" Mori unclenched her hands, though there was no less anger in her voice. "You said that _then_ , too. Did you ever actually believe that I could? Or were you too busy worrying I'd _betray_ you to actually give me a chance?"  
  
Madame stiffened slightly. "I could not reveal my hand too soon. Only the Five Stars can accomplish what needs to be done."  
  
Mori narrowed her eyes. "And what _is_ that? Anyone could kill the Leaders of the Tower, couldn't they? Or is there something else you're hiding?"  
  
_\--have to protect each other this time--_ Kimura brushed the whisper of memory aside-- not _now,_ he needed to be _himself_ \--  
  
Madame closed her eyes, abruptly silent. Shingo started forward in concern. "Madame?"  
  
The older woman released Mori's arms, left hand tracing unconsciously along the fingers of the right; when she opened her eyes again, they were almost completely silver. "It will only repeat," she said quietly, unfocused as though watching something in her own mind. "The Five Stars must sacrifice themselves, or it will only start over again."  
  
" _Sacrifice_?" Shingo recoiled slightly, the hand he'd been reaching for Madame's shoulder with jerking to a stop. "Wait a second--"  
  
_\--have to protect each other from--_  
  
"We're going to-- die?" Goro leaned in close to Kimura, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket. Nakai took a step back, as if ready to take flight.  
  
\-- _ourselves--_  
  
Her memory wouldn't be ignored now, Kimura spoke before he knew what he was going to say-- "We have to give their hearts back." -- _everything, every thought memory and feeling--_ "They have to finish what they started."  
  
He stared at Shingo, trying to figure out what Madame's and his own words meant. They had to return whatever it was that was in them somehow, so that the Five Stars could kill themselves? What had the Five Stars been fighting in the first place? And-- if they lost those memories-- that _part_ that had been with them for so long-- who, then, would _they_ be in the end?  
  
"We have to-- forget?" Nakai wrapped his arms around himself, as if trying to keep in something warm against the cool underground air. Mori glanced at him, a flash of something in her eyes, and glared at Madame again. "You wouldn't have told them, would you. You didn't even trust _them_."  
  
The older woman reached for Mori again, her brow furrowing in pain. "Mori, my dear child--"  
  
"I am not a _child,_ " Mori snapped. "I am not _blind_. The Tower hasn't taken away _all_ of my trust-- all of my _love_ \-- yet. But I can see it _has_ taken away _yours_." She twisted her arms away, trying to yank them out of Madame's grasp--  
  
There was a sharp _click_ , and the older woman's right arm detached entirely from its socket, falling to the cable-strewn floor. It was a prosthetic, Kimura realized, remembering the glimpse they'd caught of the oldest of the Five Stars approaching Madame _after_...  
  
Nakai stared at it, something suddenly snapping behind that calm exterior. He glanced up blindly at them, backing away a few steps, and then turned and ran.

  
  
_She gazed at the Tower, still far in the distance, cloaked in its ever-present dark clouds. It was almost time to make their move._  
  
_They were going to win, she reminded herself. They had the numbers, the training, the strategy, everything planned out for all possible contingencies. The people were ready to follow them, and they were ready to lead. Maybe she'd had to set some things aside, but she was stronger for it, surely, it wasn't as though there had been a chance anyway--_  
  
_A knock on the door woke her from that dangerous train of thought. She set her hand on her knife hilt and hoped it wasn't him. "Enter."_  
  
_It was Madame, already dressed for battle. "The people are assembling below. They should be ready in about ten minutes."_  
  
_She relaxed her grip. "Good. I'll be down shortly to speak to them. Tell the others as well."_  
  
_Madame nodded, smiling warmly. "We've been lucky to have such leaders as yourselves. They would follow you to the end of the world, I am sure."_  
  
_They would follow someone who stood tall and strong, who spoke in commands and righteous anger. At least the battle was almost over. "We could hardly have made it this far without your help, General. Your sight has given us the upper hand, after all."_  
  
_"It's hardly..." Madame trailed off, glancing past her at the Tower beyond the window. The younger woman hesitated, frowning, and for a moment her eyes almost seemed to flicker grey._  
  
_"What is it? Did you see something?" They were ready, they had to be, the Tower couldn't possibly defeat them now--_  
  
_Madame shook her head. "Nothing." She made as though to leave, then paused again. "If I may ask, though-- is everything all right?"_  
  
_"Everything?" Had she let it show? Damnit, she couldn't afford to be distracted right now, there were more important things to worry about than-- than_ romance _. She'd fought so hard to be strong, so that people would listen to her, so that she wouldn't let everyone down..._  
  
_"Of course," she said, forcing a reassuring smile. "Are you worried we'll change our minds?"_  
  
_Madame bit her lip, and then suddenly stepped forward, taking her leader's hand in both of her own. "I would follow you to the end of the world as well," she said, looking down. "Please be careful. There are... stories of others who tried to defy them."_  
  
_"Is that what you're worried about?" She laughed, giving the younger woman's hands a squeeze. "Those are just stories, made up by the Tower to make people afraid of them." When Madame still seemed doubtful, she rested her other hand on top of their joined hands and looked her in the eye. "Trust us. We would never betray you like that."_  
  
_She believed it, of course. She had no reason-- no choice-- not to._

 

He didn't know where he was going. The bridges and platforms seemed to go in circles, wood and rope and strange lamps flickering past-- Up, he had to go up, he had to find a way out, back up into the city where he would rescue Tsuyoshi and they'd run away and no one would take anything from him ever again.  
  
A bridge led out to something that resembled an elevator, a metal platform supported by gear-lined tracks. He dashed across to it, looking around wildly for some way to tell it to go up-- and then of its own accord, it slowly began lowering through the surrounding tangle of platforms towards the ground below. No, damnit, he had to get out, away from this incomprehensible world and its strange people and its leader who frightened him for some reason he couldn't explain--  
  
The elevator stopped with a sandy crunch. He hadn't noticed from above, but most of the cavern floor was taken up by a shallow lake that stretched out to the far wall. The water was silent and calm, undisturbed by a single ripple in the still air. More importantly, it didn't leave any space for an exit out.  
  
He really _couldn't_ do anything on his own, could he.  
  
He stumbled out onto the sand and sank down, drawing his knees in tight. The lights strung from above reflected like tiny suns on the water, like the stars painted on the ceiling far, far above. How was it that something so full of light and warmth could suddenly seem so cold and distant?  
  
He'd thought it was his own heart. His own choice, for once.  
  
But that had just been another illusion. It was someone else within him who had rebelled, someone else who had felt that warmth when he'd looked at Tsuyoshi. Had any of it actually been him? Did he even have a heart of his own at all?  
  
Maybe he really was just a suit, underneath everything. It was Tsuyoshi who had taught him how to let himself truly _feel_ something. But without that other heart inside him, he'd never even have looked twice at the flower-seller. He'd just have walked past, ignoring him as simply another distraction that might get him in trouble with the Tower, focusing only on the proper posture and stride to get from point A to point B like a good little cog in the machine.  
  
It hadn't been _him_ at all. And that meant it had never been--  
  
There was a soft shuffle of sand, approaching behind him. "I thought you were going to rescue Kusanagi."  
  
It was Mori. She came up next to him, looking out at that flat mirror.  
  
Nakai looked down at his hands. "I couldn't find a way out."  
  
"So you gave up?" Nakai nodded, wordlessly, and rested his chin on his knees. Just a suit, only good at following orders. That was all he would be, in the end.  
  
There was a sandy rustle as Mori sat next to him. "Maybe I should, too." She sighed heavily. "All the years I spent fighting and in the end she _still_ has all the cards in her hands."  
  
Nakai lifted his head a little. " _You_ can't give up. They still need you."  
  
Mori huffed, a humorless laugh. "Who? The rebels I led to their deaths? The Five Stars? _Madame_?" She was quiet for a long moment, distant sounds filling in the space from above. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I should've been the one who ran, not him."  
  
Nakai shook his head. "They wanted you."  
  
"He was trying to tell me that, I think. When I pulled away from the crowd. But I couldn't hear him over... everything else in my head." Mori laughed, a tiny bitter noise. "Here I am accusing _her_ of losing sight of things. Like I haven't let the Tower blind me all this time."  
  
Nakai lifted his head. Mori had drawn her knees up in the same pose as him, resting her chin as she stared unseeing at the lake. There was blood on the back of her hands, stains dark here and there on the black of her clothes. For an odd second, it made him want to dip his sleeve in the lake water and try to clean them off. Tsuyoshi would do that, he thought.  
  
Or was that Tsuyoshi's other self?  
  
"He thought you were a good person." Tsuyoshi had trusted her. That had been Tsuyoshi, hadn't it? It didn't... _feel_ like it had been someone else. Not like the five of them, when they'd been trying to remember... "He wanted to be strong like you."  
  
Mori kept staring out at the water. "I thought he was weak," she murmured, almost as if to herself. "But I guess he was stronger than me after all." She frowned. "I should be the one to go after him. It's my fault he was there with me."  
  
"No--" Nakai bit his lip before he could say _I have to_. He didn't know which part of him that was. "You wanted to protect him, didn't you?"  
  
Mori seemed to think for a moment. "Yeah," she said, and the corner of her mouth turned upward. "Yeah." She looked over, tilting her head as if she was trying to read him. "You do too, don't you? Why else would you try to run off and rescue him on your own?"  
  
Nakai stared at her. His other self-- _she_ was afraid, too, he realized suddenly, but it wasn't of forgetting. She'd known what she had to do from the start. _He_ was the one who wanted to stay the way he was, who wanted to take Tsuyoshi away from everything and pretend it was really them all along. He wanted... to stay with Tsuyoshi.  
  
He looked down at the sand at his feet, shuffling his toes. "I didn't know how to care about anything before. I might... forget that."  
  
"You think you'd just stop caring?" Mori shook her head. "You're not a machine. It's not like data you can just erase, it-- it becomes _part_ of you." The corner of her mouth quirked humorlessly, as if she found her own words ironic. "Even if it's hard to remember that sometimes."  
  
_You're not a machine_. Even Goro had remembered everything the Tower had tried to make him forget, the child he'd grown up as fighting the soldier he'd been made into like another self altogether. Even the Tower couldn't just erase those memories from his mind.  
  
Mori sighed. "I dunno how much it means coming from me, but-- you're in love with him, aren't you?" She gestured at him. " _All_ of you. I don't think that's gonna disappear even if that other person in you goes away."  
  
"Love?" Was he? He didn't really know what that even meant, only that it was another thing the Tower hadn't approved of. Like holding hands, and kissing. Was that... love? But you could do those things without it really meaning anything, and he was pretty sure you could... _sleep_ with someone without it meaning anything, either. How was he supposed to know? "I don't know what it is," he said, honestly. "But I want to protect him."  
  
"Close enough," Mori said, standing up. She offered a hand. "We're all too fucked-up to sit around moping, anyway. Might as well face things head-on."  
  
Nakai took her hand, letting her help him up. She'd come after him to comfort him, he realized suddenly. In her own, rough way. He still wasn't sure of anything, and that spark of fear that had sent him running was still there-- but he felt a little better. He could face it, like she'd said.  
  
He glanced up at the rebel leader, giving her a tiny smile. "I don't think the Tower's gotten to you yet. You care too much."  
  
Mori raised a startled eyebrow at him, mouth opening as if to protest. She was cut off instead by the sound of voices high above, emerging from the tunnel they'd arrived through when they'd been rescued-- a stream of refugees from the battle were being brought in, in various states of injury, under the direction of a familiar tall willowy figure.  
  
Mori caught Nakai's eye, protest turning to a thoughtful frown, and they both hurried to the elevator to meet the new arrivals.  
  
  
There was a stretch of silence in the wired room after Mori left, all of them not quite looking at each other. Shingo stared at the prosthetic arm, wondering how he could have missed it, how he could have known so little about the kindly old lady who'd taken him and his brother in. She'd kept it all a secret even from him, everything except a children's story that spoke of hope but didn't mention sacrifice. Behind that warm, gentle smile, she hadn't trusted anyone.  
  
It was Kimura who stepped forward, finally. He picked up the fallen prosthetic, examining it. "Since the first rebellion?" He held it out.  
  
Madame hesitated, wariness in her eyes if hidden from her body language, then took it. "Yes," she said tightly, reattaching the arm with practiced motions, one-handed. The fingers flexed back to life, curling into a fist. "Someone I trusted with my life tried to take it from me."  
  
The leaders of the first rebellion. They'd turned on her, and then the city she'd been trying to save. They'd taken everything, and she'd never quite recovered. Could all of this, the underground and the story and the long-laid plans, have been fueled, deep down, by _revenge_?  
  
Kimura looked her, for a long, steady moment. Then, he took her hands, both real and unreal, in a mirror of the way she had once to him. "I trust Shingo," he said, his voice low. "And Shingo trusts you."  
  
Did he? He wanted to, he wanted to so badly--  
  
"So I will trust you," Kimura told her, his hands tightening. "If you trust him."  
  
Madame stared at him, returning that gaze as though standing on a knife's edge. Then-- her face softened, and she turned her hands upward to clasp Kimura's in return. "Dear child," she murmured, swallowing as though it was suddenly difficult. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She disentangled one hand, reaching out towards Shingo. "I have made my pain your own, even as I sought to hide it. My dear child, can you ever forgive me?"  
  
Shingo moved forward, grasping her hand. It was the prosthetic, he noticed belatedly, but that didn't matter, it never had. He'd trusted her all his life, even if she hadn't been able to return it, and he couldn't stop now. "Madame. Of course-- I-- I believe in you, I never stopped even when I left." He covered her hand with both of his own. "I want to save this city, whatever it takes. Will you trust me?"  
  
Madame's fingers curled tightly around his own. "Yes," she answered, then not just to Shingo but to all of them. "Yes, it's about time that I did."  
  
  
Nakai fell back slightly as Mori approached her rebels. Many were tending to wounds, medical welders and bandages passed back and forth among them. He spotted the girl with the nose ring, and the woman with the warm smile. They were tending to someone with several bandages-- it was the rebel who'd first befriended him.  
  
"I'll be alright," the young man told Nakai as he crouched next to him, with a smile and then a wince. "The fight's not over, I'm not going anywhere 'til we take 'em out."  
  
"Don't be stupid," the girl said, but she held his hand tightly, gently.  
  
In the midst of the chaos, the lieutenant looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. Their face went blank for a moment; then, before Mori could say anything, they threw their arms around her, nearly sagging with relief. "My commander," they said, voice catching on the words. "My _commander_."  
  
Mori was still for a startled moment; then she caught Nakai's gaze and lifted her arms, returning the hug with a hesitance that quickly slipped away. "Lieutenant. You survived."  
  
"As did you. When I could not find you in the rubble--" The lieutenant pulled back, snatching their hands away as if ashamed. "I-- I could have killed you, when I crashed into you. I should not have--"  
  
"No," Mori said, holding the lieutenant's shoulders. "You saved me. You made the right call, trying to stop me. Thank you." She gazed at the lieutenant, hands lingering; the lieutenant raised a triangle-dotted hand to cover one of Mori's, and they shared a quiet smile of unspoken understanding.  
  
More footsteps from behind interrupted the moment; it was Madame, followed by Shingo, Kimura, and Goro.  
  
Mori tensed, turning to face Madame. Both of them regarded the other warily for a long moment. Then, Madame spoke first.  
  
"I welcome you to the underground," she said solemnly, "and I place my trust in you." She stepped forward, extending a hand-- the prosthetic one, Nakai recalled, with a twinge of guilt somewhere inside-- out to Mori. "I have hurt too many by keeping secrets, including you. I-- do not ask for forgiveness. But I hope that you might allow me to help you."  
  
Mori stared at the offered hand, taken aback. She lifted her eyes to the older woman's face, searching for truth, surrounded by those who would follow her to her last word-- and took her hand. "I accept." She gave Madame a wry half-smile. "I've done you and your people an injustice, when I should have trusted you. We're all people of this city, in the end." Mori straightened her shoulder, tightening her grasp. "Please help us."  
  
Madame smiled back, relief and hope written across her features. Then both woman turned to look at the casualties of the battle, and became Commander and General once more. "Tell me what you need."  
  
The rebels, who had seemed to hold their breath collectively during the confrontation, burst into activity once more. Nakai looked up as Shingo approached, already pulling medical supplies from his coat. "Nakai. Are you alright?"  
  
The question warmed Nakai inside, the way Shingo's voice had back when Nakai had been huddled, dripping wet, in a towel. Tsuyoshi wasn't the only one who had been there for him. He nodded, once, reaching up.  
  
The woman with the warm smile glanced up, taking in the two of them and Kimura and Goro a little ways back. "What happened to...?"  
  
Shingo caught his hand, and Nakai stood up. "Tsuyoshi's in the Tower," he said, feeling ready now, ready to face everything head-on like Mori had said. "And I'm going to rescue him."

 

Goro lingered behind, next to Kimura. They seemed to be ignoring the question of whether they were going to forget how they felt for each other. Of course the Tower would try to take everything, even in its undoing.  
  
His mind kept drifting back to the room full of wires, the figure at the center connected to them to the point where the line between blurred. Irrevocable. It was like seeing himself turned inside out.  
  
He didn't shiver, but Kimura must have noticed something anyway. The older man turned, an inquiring look in his eyes.  
  
Goro studied his face, the scars that crossed one side from ear to eye. A patrol run-in, he'd said. The eye couldn't possibly have survived.  
  
He lifted his hand to touch the skin below it, tracing Kimura's cheekbone. "Just wondering what I'd be, without this."  
  
Kimura caught his hand, eyebrows drawing together. "You think you wouldn't be able to feel?"  
  
The question was quiet, his voice calm. But his eyes weren't.  
  
"You're-- worried the same?" Goro tilted his head, confused. Kimura hadn't been made into something he wasn't. Kimura was human through and through.  
  
Kimura looked down at Goro's hand. "I only knew anger, before." He ran his thumb over the back of it, a soft, gentle motion. "I don't know what I'd be, either."  
  
They both glanced over at Shingo, medical supplies in hand, warm concern written across his face as he looked at Nakai. Shingo, the one who had taught them both how to feel so much. He, surely, wouldn't change. Would he?  
  
  
Shingo smiled at Nakai's declaration. He didn't look overwhelmed anymore; he looked like he was going to rescue Tsuyoshi no matter what. Even if meant they forgot what they felt for each other.  
  
Shingo glanced back, spotting Kimura and Goro looking at him. He would have to face it, too. Would he have cared so much, would he have been so driven to save people, without that other self inside him?  
  
Would all the people he'd lost have been so devastating?  
  
He'd tried, so hard, to recover from his brother's death. But it had always felt like painting over something that was more than just his own pain, something that resonated deeper within him. His other self had tried to save everyone, too, and felt it all the more when she couldn't.  
  
Maybe they both had a lot to accept, still.  
  
Nakai's shoulders relaxed slightly, as if his declaration had released something wound up inside him, and he swayed on feet. Shingo caught his arm, steadying him. "Whoa! I'm glad you're ready for action, but we should probably save it for tomorrow. Gotta get a good night's sleep to save the day."  
  
Nakai looked like he wanted to protest, but a yawn spoiled the effect. He gave his rebel friends a nod, and let Shingo lead him away.  
  
Shingo stopped in front of Kimura and Goro, Nakai in tow. They were still looking at him, as though afraid he was going to disappear-- or turn into something else before their eyes. That was what they were the most afraid of, wasn't it? Not losing themselves, but each other.  
  
He gave them a smile, the most reassuring one he could. "Mind if we all share tonight?"  
  
  
In the morning, they stood together, on the uppermost platform of the cavern. Madame and Mori were pouring over the plans of the Tower, pointing out details to Nakai as he was fitted into a suit and carefully groomed into conformity. His face grew less and less expressive with every short nod he gave them. It was disturbing to watch; but Kimura knew, in the same way he trusted Shingo, that Nakai would not forget his mission.  
  
Shingo stood at the railing of the platform, looking up at the muraled ceiling. "It took almost a year for us to do this cavern," he murmured, almost as if in awe.  
  
Kimura joined him, following his gaze. "You and your brother?"  
  
Shingo's expression wavered, and he bit his lip, hard. "Yes." He breathed in, closing his eyes for a moment. Then he forced himself to look up again, letting out the breath. "That star," he said, pointing. "That's the last one we painted."  
  
Kimura studied it, small and distant but still shining bright. Maybe, when everything was done, he would ask Shingo to teach him how to paint. When it would be more useful to know how to hold a brush than a knife.  
  
Footsteps echoed on the platforms as Goro made his way back up to them from the room full of wires. Kimura turned, leaning on the railing. "Get what you needed done?"  
  
"Just had a question to ask," Goro answered vaguely. He looked as though he was still thinking over the answer, but stepped forward to join them with determination in his stride.  
  
"--rendezvous on this floor, at which point it the rest will be up to the five of you." Madame looked up. "I trust all of your roles are now clear?"  
  
Goro nodded. "I have determined several potential methods to secure access to the Tower en masse. I will keep you updated on my progress."  
  
Shingo turned away from the ceiling, exchanging a glance with Kimura. "We'll find the channel and broadcast the message to everyone who can hear it." Kimura nodded back, resting a hand on his shoulder.  
  
Mori straightened, the lieutenant stepping up behind her with armor in hand. "We should be able to draw their attention without creating too much suspicion. Once we make the first rendezvous, we'll prepare for all-out attack."  
  
"And we have some distractions prepared, as well." Madame flipped her spectacles out of the way, nodding to herself. "Then the rest will indeed be a battle to the top."  
  
The advisor grooming Nakai stepped aside, and the smaller man stood. He was a suit again, features flat and uncaring, posture perfectly straight and emotionless. Kimura barely recognized him, even from the man who'd first collapsed onto his back in the street.  
  
Then he met their eyes, and he was Nakai again, the man they'd grown to know, the man they'd held between them, quietly, throughout the night. "Are you ready?"

 

Nakai stood in front of the office building, gazing up at the Tower only a few blocks away. It was the closest he'd ever been to it. Now, if all went well, he was going to walk in the front door, and take back what they'd taken from him.  
  
_If_. He took a deep breath, mentally checking his posture and running a discreet hand over his slicked-back hair to make sure nothing was out of place. One wrong move, the tiniest slip, and they'd know. He couldn't just pretend; he had to _become_ the Tower again.  
  
He turned, and walked into the building. "Higashiyama Noriyuki, reporting for interview," he intoned dully to the receptionist, presenting his workpad. The man nodded once, typing briskly; the workpad buzzed in response.  
  
"Your appointment is confirmed. Report to office 2046." Nakai returned the nod and strode quickly to the elevators. Others stood waiting, seemingly all the more impassive with impeccably pressed suits and identical hairstyles. He changed his grip on his workpad to match, and joined them in staring straight ahead. _You work for the Tower,_ he told himself, suppressing a faint shudder as they filed into the elevator one after another. _You_ are _the Tower, as mindless and brainwashed as everyone around you. You do as you are told. You care for nothing_.  
  
He stepped off at the twentieth floor, and presented his workpad to the secretary again. More typing, with barely a glance his way; the workpad buzzed again, and he was instructed to sit and wait. There was only one door.  
  
_Knees together, back straight. Ankles even, feet flat on floor, neither too far forward nor too far back. Look ahead, at nothing, as if you do not exist at all--_  
  
"Higashiyama Noriyuki. Enter."  
  
Nakai stood, workpad held in front of him, and walked towards the door. This was it, this was the moment of truth. The door before him would decide everything, from the moment he turned the handle. He could do this, he _would_ do this, for Tsuyoshi, for the five of them, for the _city_.  
  
"Higashiyama Noriyuki. Enter."  
  
He stepped inside, and bowed stiffly. "Higashiyama Noriyuki, age 36, level 9 worker at Office 14." Beyond the door was a blank, windowless room, surrounded in all directions by grey concrete. It was empty except for a single desk, at which sat--  
  
"We can skip that part," the pinched-looking lady said, regarding him from behind her glasses. "You are here for a promotion interview, are you not?"  
  
She recognized him. There was no doubt. Nakai stood, frozen. What did he do _now_?  
  
"Are you not?" She repeated sharply. He nodded, for lack of any other response. "According to your data," the interviewer continued, "You have worked as a level 9 worker without incident for two years, and have no incidents on your record. Thus you are apparently qualified for promotion to level 10, and transferral to work in the Tower itself."  
  
"I am honored by this opportunity the Tower has granted me," Nakai intoned flatly. She hadn't called security yet. But she definitely recognized him. "I will do my utmost to serve for the future of the city."  
  
The lady gave him a piercing look, her eyes sharp, humorless, incapable of compassion-- and returned her attention to the computer screen. "That remains to be seen." She began typing quickly, the workpad in Nakai's hands buzzing softly. "Your promotion has been approved. You have been upgraded to level 20 status, and will be issued an access key upon reporting to the Tower. You will be expected in the Tower lobby in twenty minutes. Dismissed."  
  
Nakai stared at her, still frozen in shock. Level 20? He'd never even heard of a status level that high-- had she just given him access to the _entire Tower_? "I-- I am grateful for this opportunity I have been given," he replied, clutching the workpad to his chest. Was there still a hint of humanity, somewhere behind that mask? Were there others like him, who had survived without losing everything entirely? "Thank you."  
  
The interviewer did not look up. "Do not waste it," she said, and returned to typing, once again as cold and impassive as the concrete walls around her.  
  
  
Shingo double-checked the area, keeping watch as Kimura and Goro wheeled a spare motorcycle out of the hidden underground entrance. They were under a train overpass, somewhere on the borderline between Inner and Outer rings. The sky, as always, was an overcast grey.  
  
"You're heading outwards, then?" Goro straightened, adjusting the straps of his outfit. His eyes were already turning distant, plans and contingencies running through his head.  
  
His fingers shook slightly, though, so before Shingo slid behind Kimura onto the bike, he leaned in close, catching Goro's neck and pressing a kiss to his lips. "I'd've fallen for you no matter what, you know."  
  
Goro smiled softly, gaze refocusing. "Me, too." He moved towards Kimura, resting his fingertips on the hand holding the handlebar. "Be careful."  
  
Kimura returned his words with a silent nod. Then, Goro turned, and stepped out from the overpass. A train was coming.  
  
Goro took off alongside the track as the train neared, a burst of speed that Shingo wouldn't have thought possible. For a moment, he even seemed to match the pace of the train as it drew parallel; then he leaped, catching the roof of the train car, and pulled himself up easily.  
  
They watched him disappear into the distance, and Kimura gave a low whistle. "Glad he's on _our_ side."  
  
  
Nakai walked towards the Tower, workpad in arm, pace matched to everyone around him. The pavement was still cracked in places, although the rubble had already been largely cleared away. No sense giving faithful Inner workers something to threaten their unthinking composure.  
  
Ahead, the Tower doors loomed closer.  
  
Nakai focused on them, not even flinching as a patrol stomped past, and then-- he was inside.  
  
"PLACE WORKPAD ON CONVEYER BELT AND STEP THROUGH. PLACE WORKPAD ON CONVEYER BELT AND STEP THROUGH."  
  
The message repeated endlessly as the line of workers filed through what appeared to be a glass box. It was some kind of scan-- x-ray? What did they expect him to be carrying, a _knife_?  
  
He placed his workpad on the belt and stepped forward into the box. Two scanners rose up on either side; another swept down his face. Facial recognition, he realized, and tried to keep his pulse calm. The underground had said they had a way around it, but what if--  
  
"FACIAL SCAN INTERRUPTED. RESCANNING."  
  
The scanner danced across his face again, and he held his breath.  
  
"HIGASHIYAMA NORIYUKI. ENTER."  
  
Somehow, it had worked. Nakai let out his breath, and stepped through to the other side. He was in.

 

Kimura navigated through the narrow outer streets, the cracked pavement seeming to pull at the tires of the motorcycle. Shingo clung tightly, both arms wrapped around his waist. "Turn left here."  
  
If possible, the road narrowed even more. Laundry hung on ropes criss-crossing the alley, masking the buildings ahead.  
  
They didn't have time to wait for the Market, but Shingo knew a patient who knew a seller, which would hopefully take them one step closer to the man Madame had known. Kimura didn't like it, but they didn't have a choice-- they would have to take what leads they could get, and hope people would trust them enough to tell the truth.  
  
Kimura _really_ didn't like it. But Shingo believed it would work.  
  
"Stop here," Shingo told him, in front of of a building pieced together from bits of other buildings. It looked ready to fall apart the moment someone set foot inside, but Shingo swung lightly off the motorcycle and knocked on the door, calling out his patient's name. The door cracked open, then swung wider, and Shingo slipped inside.  
  
Kimura listened carefully for even the slightest wrong noise, wanting to rush in there after Shingo just to be sure-- but he waited. He trusted Shingo, and he would do this Shingo's way.  
  
It was only a few minutes before the door opened again, and Shingo reemerged. He was grinning. "Got it," he told Kimura, sliding on behind him. "Thanks for waiting."  
  
Kimura felt Shingo's arms wrap around his waist again, warm and reassuring. It was hard to imagine he could ever forget the way this made him felt. He started the motorcycle. "Where to?"  
  
  
Nakai fell back into line, this time filing into an elevator. He checked the assignment he'd been granted on his workpad-- Floor 25, Desk 28. If a Level 20 existed, it wasn't likely to be a paper-pushing desk job the way Goro had described the lower floors. He was probably expected as a Level 10, then.  
  
He got off at Floor 25, and made his way to his assigned desk. It was in the middle of a row of identical steel desks, each barren except for a workpad stand and keyboard. Tower workers typed away on all sides, automatic, thoughtless. Nakai sat down, and placed his workpad on the stand.  
  
A loading bar flashed as the workpad connected to the system, followed by the mail program automatically opening to announce his next task. A long line of fake finished tasks filled the inbox; the newest, he knew, was not from the Tower, but a thoroughly convincing replica from the underground.  
  
_The attached project file will be due in 30 minutes._  
  
That was the approximate window he'd have before the Tower fixed the problem, then. Inwardly, he took a deep breath, and then opened the file.  
  
_File successfully downloaded._  
  
_File successfully installed._  
  
_Running program._  
  
With perfect, composed posture, Nakai picked up his workpad and headed for the elevator.  
  
  
They found the seller where Shingo's patient had told him; the man pushed his curtain aside blearily, obviously a denizen of the night, and then rapidly woke up at the sight of them.  
  
"What do you want?" he asked warily, eyes widening. He wasn't one of the merchants Kimura usually dealt with, but he seemed to recognize both of them anyway. What kind of reputation did they have now, Kimura wondered.  
  
"We need to find the channel," Shingo told him, getting straight to the point. "We have a message that needs to be broadcast as soon as possible."  
  
"The channel...?" The man looked even more suspicious. He knew something, then, or he would have just told them he didn't. "Can't you just send it in the usual way?"  
  
Shingo shook his head. "We can't risk the Tower intercepting it too soon. We have to deliver it ourselves, so that everyone will get it in time."  
  
"In time for--" The man hesitated, looking as though he wanted to simply send them away, to withdraw back into his comfortable nest and refuse to have anything to do with the dangers afoot. Kimura's hands itched to knock some sense into him, how could he be so stupid and selfish when so much was on the line--  
  
"Then," the man started again, and he looked back and forth between them, his eyebrows drawing together in determination. "Then I know who you need to look for."  
  
He looked slightly terrified at his own words, but nodded to himself, and motioned them quickly inside.  
  
  
Nakai stepped into an empty elevator, resisting the impulse to glance at the camera above him. The cameras would be down by now, glitching to replay the last five minutes over and over instead of recording new data. Only the underground should be able to follow his movements. Hopefully.  
  
He recalled the map of the Tower, each floor a circle dotted with Goro's fine handwriting. There were two options. He would have to try them both.  
  
Workpad in hand, he pressed Floor 51. His workpad buzzed, and the elevator began to move. He'd been approved.  
  
If he found Tsuyoshi-- if they'd hurt him--  
  
Nakai held his workpad a little more tightly, and the elevator arrived with a soft _ding_. He stepped out, pretending to read his mail as he took in his surroundings. Instead of desks, there were rows of laboratory tables, a handful of workers dispassionately mixing chemicals or peering into microscopes or studying lengthy documents.  
  
To what purpose? A strange curiosity filled Nakai-- what _was_ the point of all this work? He'd always thought it was simply to keep people mindlessly busy, fearful and easy to control. Was there more to it than that?  
  
One table was unoccupied, documents arranged neatly on its surface. Nakai strode across the room and stood purposefully at the table, exchanging his workpad for the topmost document.  
  
_Advances in memory modification for more efficient repurposification_  
  
_...most successful case of repurposification over the age of ten utilized a combination of emotional and physical triggers to incur a self-initiated disassociation from attachment to previous memories--_  
  
Nakai realized, with a sharp shock, that he was reading about _Goro_. He put the paper back, swallowing against nausea, when another title caught his eye.  
  
_Fear-inducing effects of inhalation of isotope F22_  
  
_...exposure to light above 100 million candlepower triggered the bonding of the F22 gas, albeit with a rapid breakdown when exposure ceased..._  
  
_...subjects who inhaled the bonded gas experienced perceptual disruption, dissociative episodes, and a higher disposition to impulsive reactions..._  
  
_...found to be stable when dissolved into a simple H2O solution. The following is suggested as a ideal formula for dispersion..._  
  
Nakai held the paper tightly. He thought of the rain that so often fell on the Outer districts, yet spared the Inner. He thought of Mori's rebels, turning on her in battle as though they had inexplicably lost their minds. He thought of the spotlight, more brilliant than daylight, coldly shining down on them through the rain--  
  
A distant, muffled explosion snapped him back to the present, and he set the document down. Mori must have made her first move.  
  
One or two of the scientists glanced up, looking around uncertainly-- but there were no windows, and no announcements were forthcoming. They turned their attention back to their work, heedless-- or perhaps careless-- of the results it might bring.  
  
Right. There was no time to waste here. Nakai picked up his workpad and strode past them, down a hallway curving off from the main room. Doors lined either side, with mesh-strengthened glass windows. Testing rooms.  
  
He forced himself to look in each window-- had one of these been the room Goro had been in? Would Tsuyoshi be in the next one?-- and found all but two of the rooms unoccupied. He hesitated next to the doors, squeezing his eyes shut. They weren't Tsuyoshi. But they were people, just like Tsuyoshi, just like himself, and he'd spent too much of his life looking the other way.  
  
He wasn't the Tower. He lifted his workpad.  
  
The doors quietly unlocked, and he slipped away, back down the hall. He'd done what he could, for now. His business was on another floor.

 

Goro clung to the roof of the train as it crossed the city, keeping his body low. The numerous track lines crisscrossed through his mind; this one would take him close, but not quite close enough, to where he needed to go. Schedules blurred, comparing. The train he needed would pass in two minutes.  
  
The train curved Inward, the Tower visible in its gloomy wreath of clouds. He'd gone back, to that room full of wires, to ask.  
  
Are you human?  
  
One minute. He spotted the track converging, the train drawing near. He rose from his crouch, racing across the tops of the cars, clearing the space between them in long strides. The approaching train pulled alongside, the track ahead already curving away-- Goro leaped, momentum carrying him across the gap.  
  
Of course, she'd said. All this is just part of me.  
  
He rolled the landing, fingernails digging into the metal to find purchase. Ahead, his destination wasn't far now. High walls, a vast compound surrounded by concrete. One corner jutted forbiddingly close to the track, only a short building separating the two-- it would be a window of but an instant.  
  
He looked at his fingertips, looked at muscles enhanced with electronic grafts through eyes modified to a dozen spectrums. The other self, deep in his heart, was the only part of him the Tower had not been able to remake. He'd thought of himself as created by the Tower, an extension of it, fulfilled only in the ability to be wielded usefully. He had feared not death, but to be broken.  
  
He had greater fears now, and with them-- love. He loved Kimura and Shingo, he loved Nakai and Tsuyoshi. The Tower had not given him that. The Tower might still take that away. But it had given him a way to fight, to protect what he loved, to whatever final end. That was his. That was him.  
  
_All of this is mine_. He pulled himself up in a crouch, his fingers and his knees and his breath impossibly steady, calculating time and distance with a mind that only did so at his command. _All of this is me_.  
  
It was time to use what the Tower had given him. He pushed himself up, and began to run.  
  
  
Kimura led the way through a tight, twisting alley, the feeling of suspicious eyes on them growing with every step. His hand twitched near his switchblade, stayed only by Shingo's presence at his back.  
  
At the far end of the alley was a door, heavy, steel, reinforced; in front of it was a man who looked paid to be there, all muscle and no expression like some kind of human patrol.  
  
"Please let us see you master," Shingo told the bodyguard, raising his hands defenselessly. "It's urgent, we need to find the channel as soon as possible."  
  
The bodyguard barely even blinked. It probably wasn't his judgement who passed or didn't.  
  
"We're going to fight the Tower," Shingo tried again. "We need to send a message to the people of the city."  
  
Kimura thought he caught the faintest huff of breath from within the building. Like disbelief, or a derisive laugh.  
  
Shingo drew himself up. "We're here on behalf of the Five Stars." He stepped forward. "You owe _them_ your allegiance, don't you?"  
  
There was a moment of silence, everything still within the building. Then, the door swung open.  
  
The bodyguard stepped aside as a man, nearly as old as Madame, emerged from the building. "The _Five Stars_ are dead." He regarded them with piercing eyes, his face etched in wrinkles. " _She_ sent you, didn't she?"  
  
Kimura had done business with the merchant once or twice, long ago; the man no longer seemed to buy or sell these days, but he always showed up at the market. As if it were one of the few things he had left.  
  
"Madame told us to look for you," Shingo replied, giving the man a reassuring smile. "But we really are here on the business of the Five Stars. We intend to finish what the First Rebellion started."  
  
The man snorted. "Finish what? The Tower won. You think a rebellion now will do any good?" He shook his head. "The Tower's only gotten stronger. Better to get out while you can."  
  
"I'm not going to leave this city." Shingo's voice took on an edge, his eyebrows knitting. "The Five Stars aren't dead, they're still trying to fight, that's why we have tell everyone--"  
  
"So that they can join a massacre?" The man gave Shingo an almost disgusted look. "You've seen how they live out here, doctor. Surely you know how many of them would die."  
  
Shingo recoiled slightly, stung. The merchant continued, his expression softening. "I've lived in this city all my life. And the Tower has taken everything, over and over." He smiles sadly, almost compassionately. "Let people live their lives in ignorance. This city is broken."  
  
Before Shingo could find the words to speak, Kimura pushed past him, closing the short space between them and the merchant. He grabbed the man's collar, lifting him bodily from the ground. " _Fuck_ you. You think this city is broken? You think people will _survive_ if they keep their eyes shut?"  
  
The bodyguard moved to intervene; Shingo dove in between, catching the guard around the middle. "Wait, he's not going to--"  
  
"We've lived in this city all our lives, too," Kimura growled, his hands clenched tight, wanting to hit, hurt, take this anger and unfairness out on _someone_. "Who are _you_ to tell us we should keep my eyes shut? Who are _you_ to decide this city is beyond saving?" He threw the merchant away from him, fists tight at his sides, wanting to-- wanting to--  
  
Kimura unclenched his hands. "If this city is broken, then we're going to fix it." He turned on his heel. "Shingo. Let's go."  
  
Shingo disentangled from the bodyguard, glancing from Kimura to the merchant on the ground. He nodded, and held out a hand. Kimura took it without a second thought.  
  
There was a shuffling as the merchant scrambled up. "How-- how can you still have that kind of hope?" He looked at them in disbelief. "After how much the Tower has taken..."  
  
"We have to keep trying," Shingo said, holding Kimura's hand tightly. "The Five Stars still believe we can fight. _We_ still believe we can fight. So we can't give up, no matter what."  
  
The merchant crossed his arms, regarding them for a long moment. The pain and doubt he'd accumulated over the years was evident in every line of his face. Then, he motioned with his head for the bodyguard to stand down. "...All right. If you think you can bring hope back to this city, then-- I'll tell you."

 

At the corner of the high-walled compound, a guard patrolled along the wall, scrutinizing the area for anything amiss. He gave the barbed wire a passing glance, spotting nothing; intruders were unlikely to get in that way, he seemed to surmise, and moved his scrutiny onwards.  
  
He was knocked flat a second later, a hand hard on his throat before he could shout-- and then the world went dark.  
  
Goro slipped his wire cutters back into their pocket and pulled a coil of thin cord from another, swiftly binding the guard's arms and legs. It was unfamiliar to feel the man's pulse under his hands. It made him uneasy.  
  
Within the compound were rows of storage buildings, and beyond, a large stretch of runway. Goro slipped in and out of the shadows, making his way around the buildings. Footsteps approached; he crouched, listening.  
  
A guard was around the corner, in the way of the clearest path. Goro took a surveying glance around the building, shifting his eyesight to thermal. Just the one; others appeared to be in buildings or congregated further down on the runway. It was the perfect timing.  
  
He ghosted around the corner, behind the guard, and clamped one hand over his mouth, jabbing a vulnerability that made the man double. He half-carried the guard around the corner of the building, hand slipping from mouth to throat-- it would be easier to hide his tracks, easier to buy time for everyone-- but in his mind were the images of Shingo working desperately to save lives, of Tsuyoshi lunging forward to stay Kimura's knife on his throat. He was what the Tower had made him, and yet, he had changed. He was capable of changing.  
  
Goro left the unconscious man on the ground and dashed toward the runway. He had little time, he would have to take the first one he could-- he reached the nearest silencer, black and forboding, and climbed inside.  
  
  
They rushed out of the alley, still hand-in-hand, finally one step closer to the channel. It wouldn't guarantee anything, and the real fight was still ahead-- but they had spoken and people had listened. It was as though Kimura had scratched at the surface of the world and found it was made of something brighter than he'd expected.  
  
Shingo pulled him to a stop as they rounded a corner, and then Kimura was pushed up against the wall, Shingo kissing him with giddy exhilaration. "Kimura-- that was _amazing_ \--" His hands tangled in Kimura's clothes, pressing in close, and Kimura wrapped his arms around him in return, savoring that warmth, that comfort, that pride--  
  
Shingo pulled away slightly, grinning at him. "Guess we're not done yet, though. Let's go!"  
  
He hurried off, back towards the motorcycle. Kimura pushed away from the wall to follow; a small movement caught his eye, though, and he glanced back.  
  
It was the one-eyed cat, polishing off a saucer of food on someone's doorstep.  
  
Kimura paused, looking down at the cat. It looked back up at him, cleaning its face contentedly.  
  
"Not so bad, is it," he agreed.  
  
  
Shingo stood at the door, Kimura a step behind, fiddling with his second earring. They'd found it. People had trusted them, had believed that the city still had hope.  
  
It was true, what the merchant had said. People would die, more than would if they stayed quiet and complacent in their homes. Shingo would be responsible, in that sense, for more deaths, more loss. Inside, his other self shivered; but it wasn't unbearable, not anymore. They would save who they could, but they couldn't save everyone. They had to save the city first.  
  
He glanced back at Kimura. And they weren't going to do it alone.  
  
"Ready?" he murmured. Kimura caught his eye, and nodded with a faint smirk.  
  
Shingo thought of the other three, somewhere, fighting their way through to their final battle together, and opened the door. This time, they were going to do it _right_.  
  
  
Nakai watched the number rise in the elevator, floors slipping past. Patrol and elite living quarters, if living could be used for how Goro had described them. Training facilities. Memory drive manufacturing and programming. Even hydroponic farms and processing floors, to feed the people that fed the Tower.  
  
And here, on the 88th floor. Communications.  
  
He'd asked Goro why they'd bring Tsuyoshi here. That's where the cameras are, Goro had replied. To broadcast to the city.  
  
Nakai couldn't think of anything that would have broken him faster.  
  
The elevator doors slid open with a soft ding. He stepped out, once again feigning preoccupation with his workpad. There were windows at this level, a view of the city stretching out to the distant wall; near the line where Inner straight lines gave way to the crumbling Outer districts, a column of smoke rose up. Another explosion followed it as Nakai watched.  
  
On this side of the windows, several workers sat at consoles, speaking into identical headsets. "--awaiting message from elite at the site--" "--resend, message did not de-encrypt correctly--" "--agents not in connection, may be malfunction in system--"  
  
An elite stood near this last worker, posture stiff and straight. "Understood. We will report to Dispatch for further instructions." He turned in place and strode towards the elevator, steps measured, expression blank.  
  
Nakai stiffened, focusing on his workpad until the words blurred, practically holding his breath as fear clutched him. He was the Tower, he was the Tower, he was--  
  
The elite stopped, feet aligned perfectly in Nakai's vision beyond the workpad. "Purpose here?"  
  
Nakai lifted his head-- _I am the Tower--_ We _are the Towe_ r-- and gave the man a cold, flat stare. "We do not ask questions."  
  
His blood ran cold, his nerves frozen, unfeeling-- the elite shifted his gaze down, away. "No. We do not ask questions." He declined his head fractionally, and waited.  
  
Nakai stepped past him, into the room of workers. The elite didn't move. What was he waiting for? Nakai glanced back out of the corner of his eye; the elite had turned his head slightly, regarding him in faint... confusion? Suspicion?  
  
Whatever it was, he didn't want to wait to find out. Nakai leveled his gaze at the room; there was a single door leading off from the main area. He walked deliberately across the room and turned the handle. The elite was still waiting. He stepped inside, and let the door shut behind him.  
  
There was one person in the room. Nakai's mind raced with possible plans-- pretend ignorance, devise a convincing lie, or would it come to a fight?-- and then the person turned and his mind went blank.  
  
It was the plain-faced man.

 

Nakai froze, his calm composure gone. _\--the knife pressed into his throat--_  
  
The plain-faced man stood at a vast console, thousands of carefully-labeled buttons surrounding a microphone and a red light. Beyond him was a set of cameras, pointed at the wall; they appeared unused.  
  
"Ah. It seems we have met before." The man smiled; it was terrifying. "What errand is it that brings you to me?"  
  
Nakai stared at him mutely. Did he not recognize him?  
  
It didn't matter. There was nothing Nakai could do.  
  
The man frowned slightly. "No, you aren't here on an errand, are you." His hand reached into his jacket. "You're here for something else."  
  
Nakai knew, before he saw the glint of light, what the man was holding. That face drew closer, the knife sharp in his hand-- _the hand holding the knife--_  
  
"Nakai Masahiro. Don't you remember?" The door against his back-- a hand on his chin-- "We are not the ones holding the knife."  
  
_\--was his own--_  
  
_Wake up._  
  
What?  
  
_People of the city. Wake up.  
  
There were five who stood against the darkness when it descended.  
They fought against the seductive false promises it made, against the fear and despair it enforced. They planted the seeds of rebellion in people's hearts.  
  
You know this story._  
  
Nakai blinked; the plain-faced man was staring back at the console. "The channel--" he muttered to himself, moving as if to step toward the console.  
  
_In a tower that stretched to the sky, they stood together in their last battle.  
And when the darkness surrounded them, they turned to light, stars streaking across the sky. The battle was not yet over.  
  
The battle is not yet over. The Five Stars have returned. And this time--_  
  
Nakai watched as the man flipped a switch on the console; all of the buttons lit up, illuminating thousands of place names. The entire city, in a web of speakers. The man reached for the microphone--  
  
_\--we will fight together, we will have hope--_  
  
Nakai lunged forward, grabbing him around the waist. He threw the man sideways, knocking his feet out from under him-- the man twisted, the knife slashing out in the air between them-- Nakai pinned him down, hand closing around his wrist, slamming it to the floor. The knife fell from his hand.  
  
_\--we will save this city._  
  
The man stared up at Nakai, winded. The message began to repeat, and then the man smiled. "Do you really think that will be enough? The dreams of a few gutter rats and rebels against the Tower?"  
  
Nakai sat up, watching the man warily. "The city will fight."  
  
"The _city_ did not hear that message. The _city_ does not know the Five Stars. Have you forgotten where you came from so easily?"  
  
Nakai stared at him. The channel-- none of the Tower workers would hear it. No one would know the story of the Five Stars-- Nakai himself had only just recognized the name, and nothing else. There was no one calling for them to wake up, no one to plant the seeds of rebellion in their hearts. But they were the city, too, weren't they?  
  
Nakai looked at the knife on the floor. It _was_ in his hand.  
  
He pushed himself up, reaching for the console. "What are you--" the man said, and then Nakai switched the microphone on.  
  
"Everyone. _Everyone_ in this city. Listen to me.  
  
"We can still take back our lives. We can still fight. No matter how much they take from us, we can still fight."  
  
His parents-- his love-- his happiness--  
  
"We aren't what they've made us. We can still change.  
  
"Because the knife might be in our hands, but they are _our_ hands, and no one else's. No one can take that away from us."  
  
Something warm dripped off his chin. Nakai caught it with his fingers, looking at it in surprise--  
  
He whirled at the sound of the knife being snatched up. " _You_ \-- you would undo all my work?" The plain-faced man glared viciously at him, holding the knife tightly. " _It_ will not forgive you. _It_ will spare no one. Not even me." His gaze dropped to the knife, a strange, faint flicker of fear in his eyes. " _Especially_ not me."  
  
He turned the knife over in his hand, and lifted his arm--  
  
" _No_!" Nakai dove towards the man, catching the hand with the knife in both of his. The man struggled desperately to press it to his wrist; Nakai twisted with his entire body, prying one finger at a time, and finally wrenched the knife away.  
  
He sat up, breathing heavily, the knife clutched in his hands. Tears were still dripping down his cheeks. "No. No more fear."  
  
The man looked up at him bleakly. "That's all it wants." His gaze shifted to the ceiling, as if looking through it far into the sky above. "Nothing but fear."  
  
"Then I won't be afraid," Nakai told him, standing. He glanced down at the knife in his hand. It was just a knife, after all. "No one will, anymore."  
  
The plain-faced man was quiet, still looking up at the ceiling. Shingo's message repeated in the background, full of hope and love for the city and its future. Nakai turned to go.  
  
"He's upstairs," the man said, when Nakai had reached the door. "If you think you can save him."  
  
Strangely, it wasn't a vitriolic tone with which the words were spoken. Nakai couldn't place what it was.  
  
  
Shingo and Kimura all but leaped off the motorcycle, racing towards Mori and Madame. The rendezvous point was a temporary base in far Inner district that the lieutenant had commandeered when organizing the survivors of the first attack.  
  
"Did you hear that?" Shingo grinned at them, the voice that echoed throughout the city still vivid in his mind. "That was Nakai! He's all right!" Nakai was still alive, still fighting, still full of hope.  
  
"We could not have hoped for a better course of action," Madame agreed, her smile complex with a myriad of emotions. "I had not counted on being able to reach the hearts of those in the Tower's grasp. But they, too, are people of this city."  
  
"We'll see if it actually _has_ that effect," Mori pointed out, but she, too, looked hopeful. "What it has done so far is announce a clear-out attack on the Tower. They're going to be looking for him inside, and expecting us outside."  
  
Shingo exchanged a glance with Kimura. "Time to fight, then?"  
  
Mori nodded sharply, the commanding light shining in her eyes again. "Time to fight."  
  
Outside, the surviving rebels were assembling and moving out under the lieutenant's direction. Shingo was gratified to see the squad leader as well, albeit leading a considerably smaller squadron of motorcycles. He hoped the training captain had survived. And the--  
  
"Katori!"  
  
Shingo turned; it was the rebel medic, hefting a box of medical welders. "I scrounged all the ones I could find," she said, tossing him a handful. "Good luck."  
  
"Thanks," he called back, clutching the welders. His chest felt like it was flooding over with relief.  
  
"Don't make us jealous," Kimura told him, elbowing his side. Shingo laughed and handed him a welder. "Wouldn't dream of it. I've already got an assistant."  
  
Kimura gave him a smile like he was thinking about kissing him anyway, just to make sure. Shingo almost considered obliging him, battlefield and all--  
  
A wind struck up, swirling around them. Rebels shouted, pointing up-- a dark shape dropped out of the clouds, too-quiet and deadly, a silencer bearing down on them to attack--  
  
"Kimura! Shingo!" A figure leaned out the window-- it was Goro, hair flying in the breeze. "Get in!"  
  
A short rope ladder hung down from the open side of the silencer. Shingo glanced back at Madame and Mori; the two were seated on Mori's motorcycle, preparing to head out. The sounds of battle already echoed ahead. Mori gave them a thumbs-up, and led her squadron out.  
  
Kimura leaped onto the ladder, climbing up; Shingo grabbed on tight, and watched as the ground pulled away. Beneath them, motorcycles streamed out between the buildings, meeting Tower fighters in the Inner streets.  
  
Before the ground fell away too far for Shingo to look down, he thought he caught a glimpse of a handful of people in suits, fighting a patrol alongside the rebels.

 

Nakai shut the door to the broadcasting room behind him, feeling dazed. He looked at the rows of communications workers, and realized with a start that several of them were looking back. He was still holding the knife, he'd forgotten the workpad where he'd dropped it, there were still traces of tears on his face, clear for all to see.  
  
The elite had disappeared; Nakai wasn't sure whether to find that reassuring or not.  
  
He ran to the elevator-- no, he didn't dare trust the elevator now, but there was a door next to it that revealed a stairwell, even the Tower had to be practical-- and dashed up to the next floor. He threw open the door, ready to fight through a crowd if necessary-- but the room was a simple laboratory, grey overcast light from the windows illuminating a single table with an IV drip leading down to it--  
  
" _Tsuyoshi_!" The name all but tore itself out of his throat as he flew to the younger man's side. "Tsuyoshi, wake up, it's Nakai--"  
  
He tried to take Tsuyoshi's hand; the younger man flinched, breathing in sharply, his face twisting in fear and pain. He didn't wake.  
  
Nakai spared a glance for the IV-- _experimental saline solution integrating F22--_ he yanked the drip out, throwing the whole thing to the floor. How dare they-- how _dare_ they--  
  
Tsuyoshi shuddered, making a soft, broken noise. Nakai took his hand again, brushing sweat-slicked hair from the younger man's forehead. "Tsuyoshi. _Tsuyoshi_. Wake up."  
  
"Nn--" Tsuyoshi twisted away, nearly sliding off of the table. Nakai caught his shoulders, clutching him desperately-- he could overcome his own fear, but how could he even hope to overcome someone else's?  
  
_Comfort_. A touch, an arm around a waist, a hug--  
  
Nakai sat on the edge of the table, pulling Tsuyoshi up, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He'd done this so many times, hadn't he? Reaching out and comforting Tsuyoshi in his sleep, waking up warm and comfortable and at peace inside--  
  
Tsuyoshi's breath grew shallow, fast. "Can't--" he mumbled, struggling. "--too weak--"  
  
Nakai pressed closer. "You're not weak. Even Mori thought so." His voice was shaking.  
  
Tsuyoshi trembled as if in reaction. "--just holding everyone back-- again--" His arms stayed limp at his sides.  
  
"You're what got us so far," Nakai told him. He stroked Tsuyoshi's back, remembering the feel of so many mornings and one night. "You taught us kindness. You taught us-- love."  
  
Tsuyoshi's trembling stopped. "--did I?" His hands twitched slightly. "I wanted-- to show you--"  
  
" _Yes_." Nakai buried his head in Tsuyoshi's neck, breathing in the way the younger man smelled, feeling the warmth of his skin and the pulse of his heart. "I love you, Tsuyoshi, I already did but you taught me how to feel it, I love you, I love you, I--"  
  
Tsuyoshi stirred, breath slowing. His eyelashes flickered against Nakai's skin. "...Nakai?"  
  
Nakai lifted his head, still holding the younger man tightly. "Tsuyoshi." Their eyes met, and Tsuyoshi smiled softly. "You saved me again." His hands found Nakai's back, fingers curling into his jacket. "Nakai. I love you, too."  
  
There weren't any words for what he felt in that moment, or if there were he didn't know them. He leaned in kissed Tsuyoshi, wonderful, perfect, everything.  
  
Tsuyoshi was a little flushed when they pulled apart, gazing at Nakai as if he didn't want to look away. "So, now what?"  
  
Nakai checked him over for injuries, feeling a bit pink himself. "Shingo and the others are going to try to meet up with us. Then we'll--" Tsuyoshi made a noise, his gaze focusing past Nakai, and rolled them both off the other side of the table. A dark blur came leaping over the table after them-- the elite from earlier, something flashing in his hand-- Nakai's hand found the knife in his pocket and flew out, blocking desperately.  
  
The knives connected with a pained noise, the elite bearing down on Nakai. "Traitor," the man said tonelessly. "The Tower will not be fooled."  
  
Nakai struggled to push back against the elite's strength, landing a kick that the man seemed to barely notice. Even if he could gain the upper hand-- Goro's face flashed through his mind, pale and stricken in the spotlight--  
  
Something swung through the air, landing a sharp blow on the elite's head. Nakai scrambled back in the moment of distraction-- it was Tsuyoshi, wielding the toppled IV stand. The elite turned, eyes flicking between Nakai and Tsuyoshi as if assessing threat levels. Then-- Nakai saw the faintest movement in the muscles across his chest-- and the elite sprang toward Tsuyoshi.  
  
Nakai lunged after him, knife in hand, there was no choice, no time to think about it--  
  
Tsuyoshi brought the IV stand around hard, landing a blow inside the elite's knife arm and knocking it wide. The elite reached for Tsuyoshi's throat, knife hand raising again-- and Tsuyoshi grabbed his arm, yanking them both backwards, one leg coming up between them to throw the elite over his head.  
  
The elite hit the floor with a heavy _thump_. Nakai dove after him and caught an arm around his throat, squeezing as hard as he dared-- and the elite went limp.  
  
Tsuyoshi stood, offering Nakai a hand. "I've been wanting to do that," he said with a little smile. "Should we tie him up?"  
  
Nakai accepted, looking about for anything useful. "Told you you were strong," he said, smiling back. "Maybe we should get to--"  
  
They ducked as the windows on one side suddenly burst in. A dark shape was hovering outside-- a silencer--  
  
"Nakai! Tsuyoshi!" A figure was dangling from a ladder underneath the silencer. They ran over to peer out through the broken glass, wind and scattered raindrops whipping into the room.  
  
It was Shingo, apparently clinging to the ladder for dear life. Above, Goro sat in the pilot seat, Kimura hanging halfway out of the door behind him. "Give me a hand, will you?"  
  
Nakai managed to catch the end of the ladder as Goro maneuvered closer, and they helped Shingo scramble in to safety. "Thank goodness," he said, momentarily sprawling on the floor in relief. Then he was up again, wrapping Tsuyoshi in a tight hug. "Thank _goodness_."  
  
The silencer hovered slightly lower, and seconds later Kimura came tumbling through the window. He greeted Tsuyoshi with a thump on the shoulder, and immediately turned to lean back out, yelling something into the wind. Goro nodded, reaching up to flip a switch-- when Nakai caught sight of a beam of light. The spotlight was on, cold light searching hungrily through an increasing rain.  
  
Nakai rushed back to the window, pushing past Kimura. Below, fights filled the streets, the tide seemingly even for the time being. If the spotlight hit them-- if they succumbed to fear--  
  
"Goro!" he shouted, above the raging wind. "The spotlight! Stop the spotlight!"  
  
Goro looked up, into the mass of swirling dark clouds above. The spotlight loomed, barely a few stories up, its light almost tangibly bright. The dark-haired man nodded again, his face set in determination. The silencer began to maneuver away.  
  
Kimura grabbed Nakai's shoulder. "What's he doing, are you crazy--"  
  
The dark shape rose higher and higher through the rain, until it was nearly above the spotlight. The beam of light shifted upward, as though trying to follow it. For a split-second, the silencer hung in the air, the light just catching the still-dangling ladder beneath it-- and then it plunged full speed downward toward the spotlight.  
  
It slammed into the lens, great shards of glass flying, the spotlight itself tilting off balance with the force. Then, with a creaking groan, the light tore itself from its bearings, flickering into nothing as it fell from its Tower perch.  
  
" _Goro_!" Kimura shouted, but they had to duck back inside as debris came raining down, staring helplessly at the pieces tumbling by, any one of which could be--  
  
Something hit the window with a wet smack; it was the rope ladder, hanging down from some point above, just barely reaching their floor. Kimura leaned back out, catching the end, and a figure came sliding down along it, damp and windswept but otherwise in one piece. Goro staggered in through the window and into Kimura's arms, the older man clutching him tightly as if in disbelief that he had survived.  
  
"That was _insane_ ," Kimura said, wide-eyed even for someone who regularly threw himself into death-defying feats with careless nonchalance.  
  
"Sorry." Goro looked somewhat amused. "I couldn't think of a better way."  
  
"Now you know how it feels," Shingo muttered to Kimura, rubbing the back of Goro's neck.  
  
The elevator chimed, and Kimura and Nakai whirled. "So, is there a plan?" Tsuyoshi asked, stepping in close behind them.  
  
"Keep moving up," Kimura said, and launched himself forward.

 

They took the stairs, fighting their way up one flight at a time. The last few floors seemed to be jammed full of strange machinery, places hardly fit for what must have originally been the administration of a tyrannical but ordinary human. Their other selves did not recognize them.  
  
At the top of the last stairwell, several elites and-- somehow-- a patrol were waiting.  
  
"The Leaders have no use for you," the foremost elite intoned, brandishing a taser stick. "You will die here."  
  
Goro gritted his teeth, a knife in either hand. "Might not be able to settle this one without casualties." Alongside him, Kimura nodded.  
  
They were about to charge forward when a yell was heard from the doorway; rebels burst into the stairwell, taking the Tower soldiers by surprise. Behind them, Mori fought her way through, shouting over the din. "We'll hold them here, get to the elevator! The underground's broken into their system!" The elite with the tazer landed a blow on her chest; the jacket glowed brilliantly, absorbing the electricity. Mori punched the elite in the face.  
  
"Thank you!" Tsuyoshi called back as they pushed past. Mori smiled, and turned back to the fight.  
  
There was only one remaining floor on the elevator. The doors slid open, and memory twisted sharply; it was the room they'd seen in Madame's experience of the First Rebellion, the room the Five Stars had prepared for their final battle in. A single staircase led upward from the center of the room.  
  
"This is it, then," Shingo murmured softly. "The last stop."  
  
  
_They climbed the final flight of stairs together-- or at least, in body if not in heart. They had left those behind, there was no time for such things when there was a city that needed to be saved._  
  
_Instead they carried their grief, their anger, their fear._  
  
_And they reached the top, where the man who ruled the city with a steel fist waited. The clouds pressed in close around the Tower, dark and growling, like a monster lurking at the edges._  
  
_"You have come to kill me," the man said, and smiled sharply._  
  
_Yes, that was it, that would solve everything-- no, that wasn't what they had planned, they only wanted to stop him--_  
  
_"I will kill everyone. I will take everything. There will be nothing left." The man stepped towards them, hands spread wide. He seemed to grow taller, his voice an echo of the storm that surrounded them. "The only way to stop me is to kill me."_  
  
_No, he was only human, surely all they had to do--_  
  
_\--was kill him, tear him apart for what he'd done--_  
  
_\--no--_  
  
_And he appeared in their eyes to become something darker, not a man who ruled by lies and greed but instead something cruelcoldheartlessinhuman, like the storm itself descending to swallow them. If you take over, what then? Who will follow you? You who cannot stand together, who fear your own hearts, who cannot even look at_ each other _\--_  
  
_They faltered, then. They'd sacrificed everything, pushing what they wanted away in order to be strong. But it hurt, even now it hurt, the ache of standing next to each other an eternity apart, and where pain lingered came anger, why should_ they _be the ones to hurt for everyone else--_  
  
_\--they would take revenge, they_ craved _it--_  
  
_\--and they realized, as the darkness rose not around them but within, that they'd chosen the wrong weapons after all_.  
  
  
The clouds seemed to press in at the windows, swirling darkly against the glass. They cast the room in a cold grey light, as unfeeling and emotionless as the Tower itself.  
  
Yet, the five of them drew close together, facing each other, and themselves, in a tight circle of warmth. They had chosen a different weapon, this time.  
  
_She held the roll of bandages, unable to keep hurt, disappointment from her face. There were so many she hadn't been able to save, and each and every one weighed more heavily on her heart in the face of such rejection. It was selfish to have wanted anything, she'd let herself be distracted when she could have been saving people, and now she couldn't save anyone at all._  
  
Shingo reached for Kimura's arm, old scars rough under his fingertips as he drew a medical welder from his pocket. "You're injured," he said, but it was with a gentle touch and a smile for the older man. He had lost many, but he'd saved many, too; not just through the skill of his hands but through the capacity of his heart. Of course it hurt to lose people. But that was because he loved them, all the more. He would keep loving them, no matter what.  
  
_We will save this city_ , he told himself, and bent to close the wound in Kimura's arm.  
  
_She paced restlessly, wrapping the bandage around her arm. She wasn't strong enough. She needed to be stronger. She couldn't waste her time getting distracted, she couldn't let her guard down. If they saw a weakness, they'd try to take advantage of it-- everyone did. Even the four fighting alongside her would, if she let them. The one over by the window was laughing at her, wasn't he?_  
  
Kimura watched Shingo's careful fingers, the instinct to jerk away a distant whisper in the past. He'd prided himself on his strength, throwing away all else as unnecessary to survive. But it was trust that had saved his life, that night, trust that not everyone would look at him and see something they could hurt. And with it had come love, quiet and slow, giving him so much more to fear but so much more to fight for. It _was_ strength, beyond any other.  
  
_We'll all be strong enough, now._ He rested an elbow on Goro's shoulder, giving the dark-haired man a grin. "Ready for one last fight?"  
  
_He could see the smile on his face, reflected in the cloud-smothered window. He knew he had no chance. It was spite, now, that made him smile, when he should have wanted the happiness of others, when he should have had the best interests of the city in his heart. What this what loving someone made you? He should have never loved at all, never came here at all._  
  
Goro turned his head, gazing back at Kimura, at Shingo just beyond him. It seemed almost a dream that he'd tried to kill them once. He'd woken up into a nightmare, broken, even memories that didn't belong to him preferable to his own. But they'd taken him in, giving him a reason to fight back, giving him _love_ \-- and something to love back. They'd pieced him back together, no, helped _him_ put himself back together, with his own hands. This was what love had made him. Himself.  
  
He managed a faint smile, small but steady, emotions flooding through him for the four he'd come so far with. _We'll fight for everyone, this time_. "I am now."  
  
_He stood a pace behind her, at the base of the stairs. He'd always been behind her, it seemed, never quite fast enough or brave enough to keep up, to stand alongside her instead. Even now, when they'd made it so far, he still didn't have the courage to take that step forward. He'd already held everyone back with his weakness; he didn't want to hold her back with his selfishness, too._  
  
Tsuyoshi slid his arm around Nakai's waist, leaning against his side. He looked like the man Tsuyoshi had first met, the day he'd gone from a world of sun and flowers to one in which he'd felt useless and weak. He'd pushed himself to keep up, to be as strong and brave as everyone around him-- but he'd realized, in the end, that there was something more important he could do.  
  
_We'll stand together, all of us as one_. He pressed a kiss to Nakai's cheek, earning a blush and a warm look. "I'll stay by your side, no matter what."  
  
_She gazed up at the staircase, at the door at the top, and felt nothing but dread. There was no reason they wouldn't win. But winning wasn't the end of things; with the fall of one leader, another had to step into place. Someone people would follow, someone people saw as strong. The thought made her tired, alone. If there was someone with her, alongside her-- but she'd pushed him away, pushed everyone away, and it was too late to look back now._  
  
Nakai looked up at the door, a flat black rectangle in an expanse of blank grey. Once the sight might have inspired fear, wondering what the Tower was going to take away this time. But now Tsuyoshi was here with him, Shingo and Kimura and Goro standing alongside him, people who had given him reason to fight the Tower, reason to overcome his fear and reach out. He wasn't the Tower, and he wasn't going to let the Tower take anything away.  
  
_We will not give in_ , he told that last whisper of doubt inside him, and rested his hand on Tsuyoshi's back, leaning into the younger man's touch. "Thank you."  
  
He glanced at the others, and then back to Tsuyoshi, brow furrowing slightly. "We have to return the memories we have to them-- the Five Stars. There's a chance--" He hesitated, studying Tsuyoshi's face like it might be the last time it would look that way. "We might forget."  
  
"How we feel?" Tsuyoshi frowned, momentarily silent in thought. Then: "I won't." He looked at Nakai, his expression serious. "I love the Nakai I know now. Not because of the Five Stars. I won't forget that, because that's _me_."  
  
Nakai stared at him for a moment longer, the words sinking in, and then swept both arms around him. "I won't-- I won't, either," he told Tsuyoshi's neck, pressed tightly against him. "It's _my_ heart that loves you, isn't it? I thought I might not have one, but-- but I couldn't have rescued you if I didn't." He pulled back again to meet Tsuyoshi's gaze. "So I won't forget you, either. Ever."  
  
Shingo and Kimura exchanged a glance, first with each other, then to Goro. "They're better at this than we are," Shingo said, and then Kimura was kissing him, pulling Goro into both of their arms. "I'm done forgetting," Goro murmured, leaning his head on Shingo's shoulder. "Too many good things to remember now."  
  
"Agreed." Kimura touched Goro's cheek, his hand drifting from there to the scar on Shingo's neck. "Too many important things."  
  
Shingo ran his fingers through Goro's hair, smiling at Kimura warmly. "Guess I'd better remember, then. Someone's gotta keep you two from doing any more crazy death-defying stunts." He gave them both a poke in the side.  
  
They faced each other again, bracing themselves for the battle ahead. "Ready?" Shingo asked, securing his goggles in his hair.  
  
Nakai drew the knife from his pocket, studying the blade, the hilt, the hand that held it. Then, he set it down on the floor, behind him. "Ready," he answered, and took Tsuyoshi's hand.  
  
Together, they climbed the staircase, and opened the door.

 

On Goro's map, the final floor of the Tower had been a blank circle.  
  
It was, in fact, accurate.  
  
The room was darkened, illuminated only by a thin grey light choked by cloud and rain. There was no furniture, nothing but a warped hardwood floor stretching from wall to wall; rain seeped in through the ceiling, dripping steadily into pools that stained the wood dark. The decor spoke of a government with delusions of grandeur, now torn and tattered, fallen into darkness and disrepair. It seemed impossible that the Tower could have been commanded from here.  
  
Yet, from the darkness came footsteps, five sets approaching around them as if emerging from the walls of the Tower itself.  
  
_You have come._  
  
The wind began to rise, clouds twisting restlessly. The Leaders-- the Five Stars-- stood in silhouette against the bleak light.  
  
_You will kill us._  
  
"No." Shingo looked from silhouette to silhouette, his voice steady. "We've come to defeat you."  
  
_You_ want _to kill us_. The rain beat down harder, lashed by the wind. _You fear forgetting, do you not? You fear we will take away that which is most precious to you--_  
  
"Nothing will take that away," Goro cut in, more expression in his eyes than perhaps ever in his life. "Those you commanded tried to and could not. Neither will you."  
  
The wind began to howl, circling the Tower. _There is no other way to defeat us. We will consume this city, we will consume you, and you will forget, forget, forget--_  
  
"You're the ones who've forgotten." Kimura raised his chin defiantly at the darkness. "Do you even remember why you hunted us down in first place?"  
  
_We know what you carry._ The voices grew contemptuous, the clouds seeming to sneer. _Such things cannot hurt us._  
  
"Of course they won't," Tsuyoshi replied, soft smile on his lips. "They're going to save you instead."  
  
_Do you_ really _think we can be saved?_ One of the figures stepped closer, wood creaking underfoot. _You know what we have done. You know what we have become._ The floor was streaked dark at her feet, not the mark of rain but older. _Who would choose to become us?_  
  
"They will," Nakai told them. He faced the figure of his other self, no doubt left in his heart. "They want to return. They know where the real battle lies."  
  
Above, a crack of thunder sounded, sharp and rolling, like derisive laughter. _As though you can fight me._  
  
Lightning flashed, and for a split-second the room was brilliantly bathed in cold white light. The faces of the Five Stars lingered in afterimage; they were the same as the day they'd stepped into that room, unchanged despite the passing of so many years.  
  
_Do you think you have come here for the Five Stars?_ The wind grew louder, roaring around the Tower as though searching for a way in. _Do you know what you are_ really _facing?_  
  
_It_ , the plain-faced man had said, gazing up as though through the ceiling. Nakai reached back, catching Shingo's hand. Shingo slipped his other hand into Kimura's, Goro following suit between Kimura and Tsuyoshi, until they faced outward in a circle. "We'll fight you no matter _what_ you are. You can't have our city."  
  
The darkened figures slowly stepped forward, closing in around them. _I will consume you._ Thunder shook the tower, rain clawed at the windows-- a monster, beating its way in. _I will consume everything._  
  
They stood their ground, shoulder to shoulder, as the Five Stars approached-- this was it, this was what had brought them here-- hands reached out to pull, tear, strangle--  
  
And the room filled with blinding white light, not the cold brilliance of lightning but warmer, from within. They opened their eyes to see the Five Stars, no longer shrouded in darkness. The Five stared at their hands, at each other, and then-- finally, with smiles that spoke of a long journey at its end-- grasped each other's hands tightly.  
  
_You saved us_ , the youngest said, her smile bright with hope once more. Thank you.  
  
_You gave us what we needed to figh_ t, the one next to her said, glancing at those she stood between warmly.  
  
_We wish we could fight the last battle with you_ , the third added, returning the glance with a smile of his own.  
  
_But I'm afraid we can't stay any longer_ , the other man said, with a gentle expression.  
  
_It is your hearts the city will listen to, now._ The oldest, holding her companions' hands tightly. _This fight is yours._  
  
The windows shattered, wind and rain whipping through the room in wild anger-- but it did not reach the five who stood in the middle. The Five Stars guarded them, with the last of their lives.  
  
The fight was theirs, now. They looked at each other, a wordless exchange of hope, determination, love-- and then turned to face the storm. They knew, now, how to fight it, not with fear or anger or hatred-- they held on tightly to each other, and let go.  
  
They became light.

 

The storm raged around them, a chaos of thunder and lightning and biting winds that seemed no longer like a storm at all. Roiling clouds tried to cling to them, dark and heavy with more than just rain. The sky above the Tower, forever shrouded in grey, had hidden a nightmare beyond the surface.  
  
But they were light; they held love in their hearts, and rode the winds that buffetted them. They streaked through the sky, darkness yielding before them, outshining the lightning that tried to blind them. No nightmare could capture them in its depths.  
  
And below them, the city spread, every heart beating with the battle above. Outer citizen fought alongside Tower worker fought alongside rebel, those who could find the strength to  
reclaim their own hands reaching out to those who could not. The awakened city held hope, perhaps only a seed in each person, but together fending off fear in joined hands and raised voices. The battle had not yet been over; now, they knew, it was finally time to finish it.  
  
The storm fought back in torrential downpour and flattening winds, attempting to cover the city in darkness. They soared through it, curving outward nearly as far as the wall, five iridescent lights cutting across the sky and circling back. The storm was coalescing, now, drawing in on itself into a menacing dark mass-- and then it appeared no longer a creation of nature but something more frightening, something made of the very darkness of people's hearts. It thrived on anger, on hatred-- and most of all, on fear, growing stronger the more it inspired. It clung to the top of the Tower, as if to say, _You are what made me, you brought this on yourselves--_  
  
They sailed inward, like falling stars, towards each other. Towards the storm.  
  
_\--Nakai walking with Tsuyoshi, hands swinging lightly between them in the simple joy of being together--_  
  
_\--Kimura's hand finding Shingo's on Goro's back, acceptance and pride and most of all trust--_  
  
_\--the five of them with hands entwined, their own hands, their own love--_  
  
\--and they pierced through the dark, to the very center of the storm, meeting in a brilliant burst of light. The storm writhed, thunder and lightning rippling across its surface-- and then, slowly, silently, began to dissipate.  
  
The light vanished, leaving only the final wisps of cloud still lingering, until they, too, fell into nothing.  
  
The storm was defeated. The city was free.  
  
  
Nakai opened his eyes to bright sunlight.  
  
He nearly had to close them again, feeling as overwhelmed as when he'd first seen the mural on Shingo's bedroom ceiling. He'd never known the sky could be so blue.  
  
He lay there for a moment, marveling at the color, at the feeling of flight still lingering in his body, at the feeling of being _alive_ \-- and then pushed himself up onto his elbows.  
  
He had to know-- he had to be sure--  
  
They'd ended up on the roof of the Tower, the five of them in a loose circle. From here, they could see beyond the wall, distant towns and hills and a mountain gleaming bright, promises that there was a world beyond the city to help them find a future-- but Nakai saw none of that.  
  
Tsuyoshi was there next to him. His eyelashes twitched, and he opened his eyes to meet Nakai's, a soft smile pulling across his face.  
  
And Nakai thought that maybe, that warmth that had flooded through him when he'd first set eyes on the younger man, had been him all along.  
  
On his other side, Shingo stirred, waking to find his head in Goro's lap, Kimura giving him a smirk over the dark-haired man's shoulder. Shouts came from below, rebels climbing up through a roof access followed by Mori and Madame. The city below lay stretched out light, the battle over at last. They'd won. They were free.  
  
Nakai gazed at Tsuyoshi, something flooding over in his heart, finding its way up to the corners of his mouth. A smile, no, it couldn't be contained in just a smile. He dropped onto his back again, arms spread out wide as if to take in the whole of that vast blue sky, and laughed.  
  
He loved Tsuyoshi. He was himself. He was, finally, happy.  
  
  
  
Epilogue:  
  
"A bit deeper. Good. Now cover them with dirt."  
  
Rich soil trickled inexpertly between fingers, covering twelve tiny seeds. "Next?"  
  
"Now add some water, and they'll be ready."  
  
Nakai watched as his current patient, a former elite, added precisely the same number of drops of water to each planted seed. No room for error, as usual.  
  
The man finished adding water, carefully setting down the dropper. "Now what?"  
  
"Now we wait," Nakai told him, with a smile. "They'll grow into trees, eventually."  
  
The former elite stared at the planter, one hand reaching out to almost--not quite-- poke at the dirt. "From something so small?"  
  
"Yes." Nakai waited a moment, as the man thought about this. Then: "Would you like to help them grow?"  
  
The former elite's head snapped up, the many dangers inherent in that question making his expression flatten in defense. An option, an appeal to individuality, an assumption of preference-- but the man had come far already, and Nakai believed he was ready.  
  
His patient's face relaxed fractionally, and he ducked his head. "Yes," he said finally. "W-- I would-- like to do so."  
  
He looked a mixture between mortified and relieved when he lifted his head. Nakai gave him another smile. It got easier, all the time.  
  
"Okay," he said, motioning for the man to pick up the planter. "I'll show you where we'll keep them..."  
  
  
Nakai emerged from work, near the remains of the Tower, to find Mori waiting for him. She eyed his departing patients with curiosity, but no longer with the suspicion that had once ruled her.  
  
Nakai raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be governing the city?"  
  
"Co-governing," Mori corrected. "I'm just here with a message for your boyfriend. And the rest of you, if you're interested."  
  
Nakai flushed-- he'd never stop losing his composure at that word, would he?-- and turned to start walking home. "None of us are interested in government jobs, if that's what you're here about."  
  
"Heavens, no." Mori fell into step beside him. "I'm here because Madame moved to start taking the wall down tomorrow. Tsuyoshi was interested in seeing the outside."  
  
Nakai paused, remembering his brief glimpse beyond the wall from the top of the Tower. What kind of world lay out there?  
  
Mori took in his expression with a smirk. "Looks like a yes to me. I'll let Madame know to expect some guests. If she hasn't already forseen them."  
  
A motorcycle came circling around the block, drawing up next to them. The lieutenant nodded to Nakai as Mori climbed on. "Maybe," Nakai said, with a smile at one corner of his mouth, and waved them off.  
  
  
Tsuyoshi was working outside, bustling about in his apron as he put away buckets of flowers. He looked up with a brilliant smile as Nakai approached. "Here to buy some flowers?"  
  
Nakai poked him in the side. "Aren't you ready to go home yet?"  
  
"I know, I know," Tsuyoshi waved his hand. "There were a bunch of last-minute orders, and I'm still working out bike-delivery logistics..." He ducked inside his shop, a proper building with a sizeable greenhouse in back. Nakai followed, breathing in the cool, moist air. "There, that's the last bucket, just let me lock up."  
  
Tsuyoshi turned, fishing his keys out of his apron pocket, and paused, smiling at Nakai.  
  
Nakai smiled back at him in the dim light of the shop. "What?"  
  
"Just remembered something," Tsuyoshi said, and leaned in to give him a quick kiss.  
  
Nakai was considering returning it with a more satisfying one when the wind picked up outside, a faint hum approaching from above. They rushed out to see Goro in his adapted silencer, hovering in the middle of the street.  
  
"Just got off work," Goro called out the open side door. "Want a ride?"  
  
Nakai eyed the silencer, now converted into use as an emergency medical transport. He couldn't help but picture Goro diving out of it as it went careening across the sky; he had a sneaking suspicion it was the man's idea of a good time. Do I want to ride in that?  
  
" _Absolutely_ ," Tsuyoshi said, and dragged him forward.  
  
  
"...and that was the last time they let me lower myself out on my own," Goro concluded, landing safely on the roof of their home. "I think they're overreacting, don't you?"  
  
"Absolutely," Nakai agreed, hurriedly climbing out before Goro could change his mind and show them any more stunts.  
  
"I'd check with Shingo first," Tsuyoshi said reasonably, as they followed Nakai. "But you should definitely show us more moves like that next time!"  
  
"Is that the sound of reckless danger I hear?" Shingo poked his head out of his office as they came down the stairs, then ducked back inside. "Kimura, these are clearly _hemostatic_ forceps, you've got them mixed in with the dressing forceps--"  
  
"They're all _forceps_ , what's the difference?" Inside the office, Kimura lounged in the assistant's chair, the lab coat he refused to wear thrown over the back.  
  
"Well if I'm going to be doing _surgery_ \--" Shingo sighed, sorting through the forceps himself. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather be diving out of silencers with Goro?"  
  
Goro leaned over the back of the assistant chair, draping his arms invitingly over Kimura's shoulders. "They won't let me do it alone, you know."  
  
Kimura reached up to tap the corner of Goro's mouth. "Maybe once in a while," he said, leaning in to follow his finger with a brush of a kiss. "But Shingo needs an assistant."  
  
"I need a _competent_ assistant," Shingo corrected warningly, although his mouth was threatening to quirk into a smile. "So get over here and learn your forceps."  
  
Kimura obeyed, grumbling; Goro took over the chair, which conveniently both spun and had wheels.  
  
"I got a message from Mori today," Nakai said, before they could get too distracted. "She said they'll start taking down the wall tomorrow. We can go see the outside if we want."  
  
" _Really_?" Tsuyoshi clutched Nakai's shoulder, turning to look at him excitedly. "We _have_ to go, do you know how many new plants are out there?"  
  
Shingo laughed, looking up from the pile of forceps. "Maybe we should all go, then. Get a breath of fresh air."  
  
The others nodded, curious and apprehensive-- they'd saved the city, after all; it was worth seeing what kind of world they saved it _for_.  
  
Nakai nodded slowly, as well, and Tsuyoshi looked even happier. "We'll have to pack, then," he said, tugging his apron off over his head.  
  
" _Pack_? My office isn't _nearly_ in order yet, and you want me to get everything messed up _again_?" Shingo stuck his tongue out playfully; Tsuyoshi wrinkled his nose back.  
  
"You've got a billion medical kits prepared already," Kimura pointed out, rolling his eyes. He reached over to pull Goro closer, chair and all. "I can think of more _interesting_ things to be doing with that time, anyway."  
  
"Oh?" Goro smirked, which Nakai was pretty sure he'd learned from Kimura. "Care to demonstrate?"  
  
"Hey! Not in my _office_!" Shingo said indignantly, but by then Nakai and Tsuyoshi were high-tailing it out of there. "See you tomorrow morning!" Tsuyoshi called back, following Nakai down the stairs to their bedroom.  
  
They shut the door, laughing, and settled on the end of their bed. "I wonder what people will be like out there," Tsuyoshi mused, folding him apron and setting it aside.  
  
"Just like us, probably." Nakai tugged off his jacket, thinking of his patients, slowly relearning how to live. And of himself, he supposed, although he'd had better help. He looked over to see Tsuyoshi had gotten up, and was pulled something out from behind the curtain.  
  
It was a red carnation, growing in a small round planter.  
  
"I grew a new flower for you," Tsuyoshi said, simply. He smiled, holding it out.  
  
Nakai stood. Was this how his patients felt, when they saw those seeds turn to sprouts? "Tsuyoshi," he said. There was nothing more he could say. Tsuyoshi was good at that.  
  
He stepped closer, everything they’d come through together rising up in his heart—the two of them, the five of them, the city around them—and held the flower gently. “Thank you,” he whispered, finally, almost afraid to look up.  
  
Tsuyoshi leaned in, resting their foreheads together, and they were quiet for a long, peaceful moment.  
  
Then there was a distant shout from upstairs, and the moment was, if not broken, decidedly put aside for the time being. Tsuyoshi laughed, an infectious giggle that caught onto Nakai, and they had to set the flower down before anything disastrous could happen. “I guess could just pack in the morning,” Tsuyoshi said, tugging Nakai close again with a little smile. “Want to do something more interesting?”  
  
Nakai blushed, but slid his arms around Tsuyoshi’s waist, leaning in. “Absolutely,” he said, and kissed him.

  
The city was recovering, and would be recovering for years to come. But they would be there for it, to show it what they’d learned from each other, what they were still learning from each other.  
  
They would give it hope,  
they would give it love,  
they would give it light.


End file.
